The flowers arrived.
Old-fashioned pink roses, coral carnations, purple stocks, pink pinks, mauve orchids, moss roses, patterned chintz-like phlox.
"Oh!" she said, and for a moment she shut her eyes.
Then:
"Tell me about her," she said.
"Marthe?"
"Is that her name?"
"She is vibrant."
"But of course. What does she look like?"
"Her hair is like a dirty new coin. You feel that you could polish it into brightness. Her eyes are like tea—yellow camomile tea. Her mouth is big and rather grave. There are electric waves of aliveness running all through her."