Only I know the tears that brimming start, your beauty blended with your smile to espy." Then, having read it, we read it again, moved by a mysterious influence.

And we finger the chance-captured paper, without knowing what it is, without understanding very well what it says.
* * * * * * When I asked her to go with me to the cemetery that Sunday, she agreed, as she does to all I ask her.

I watched her arms brush the roses as she came in through the gardens.

We walked in silence; more and more we are losing the habit of talking to each other.

We looked at the latticed and flower-decked square where our aunt sleeps--the garden which is only as big as a woman.