Chapter 91

I am so attached to blossoms. Smell how sweet they are, Straight to the point." And she really held the detestable gift near my noses for my appreciation. "Might it be said that they are sweet?" "Very," I said drily.

"Aren't these violets wonderful, daddy?" she expressed, interesting to her dad for the appreciation she had neglected to inspire from me.

"Purple," answered her conservative parent, who was familiar with spell ruler with a little k, and individuals with a capital p, "is my revultion, being the variety and

symbol of dictators and lords."

"How silly you are, daddy!" brought she back. "What is your number one tone, Mr.

Vasari?"

"That which shimmers on the cheek of Magnificence," answered the nitwit, with his eyes fixed on my cousin's face. Undoubtedly no variety could be more gorgeous than Daphne's sweet blush at that point, and my desire intensified toward the individual who had called it forward. "Do you figure out the language of blossoms,

Miss Leslie?"

"Just a tiny; do
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