“Miss Cherwell, are you familiar with the language of flowers?”
Patience looked down at the posy she clutched. “I…er…I’m not sure.” Although she prided herself on knowing this kind of information, her mind went completely blank at that precise moment.
He touched the flowers in the posy one by one. “Shame on you, Miss Cherwell. You failed to read my reply to your message. The pansy means love. I am not sure if one could say the love so pure that your poetry demands, but I would like to think so. The yellow iris means passion. The blue violet means fidelity. Anemone means unfading love, or else for eternity.”
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