The new headstone gleamed in white marble and the young grass stood tender and green.

Against the stone lay a bunch of withered wild roses.

Someone had been there before him that day.

Whom could it be?
Her mother was not in the city, and who else would remember the visit of the angel-being who had returned to her eternal home?
A pang shot through his heart, and he was half tempted to turn without placing his own tribute on the grave, then immediately he knew the thought was foolish.

He took off the wrapping and placed his fresher flowers near the more withered ones.