“I knew I could. White ones!”
He sat down and picked three flowers, and held them to his nostrils, and inhaled their fragrance. Then he put them to his mouth, and I saw his strong white teeth crush them. He chewed them for a while without speaking; then he spat them out and gathered more.
“They remind me of her too,” he said, and he twisted a piece of honeysuckle stem round the bunch and handed it to me.
“A white violet, is she?” I smiled.
“Give them to her, and tell her to come and meet me just when it’s getting dark in the wood.”
“But if she won’t?”
“She will.”
“If she’s not at home?”
“Come and tell me.”
He lay down again with his head among the green violet leaves, saying: