That, I thought, was what it meant: a perception of the nature of other people.
Flowers are for the living, and I'm fond of yellow roses.
They'd be no use to me, dead. So I had these now. To remind me that the idea of flowers for the living, though seldom put in practice, describes the immortal essence.
Except for taking Paul off my back awhile, there wasn't anything else that Dave could do or say. But this, he did and said.
I stood there, rooted with the comprehension.
Yvonne fumbled womanishly through the stems.
"Who sent them?"
"A guy I know."
She gasped. "Guy!"