“Really? But you don’t look hungry.”
“I’m starved—for roses; absolutely famishing!”
“How awful!” she exclaimed in awe-struck tones. “Wait, then.”
She turned and looked about her over the laden branches.
“Does your hunger demand any especial kind or color of rose?”
“It does; it cries aloud for a large pink rose with one or two crushed petals.”
“What a strange appetite you have! I’m afraid I can’t see one just filling those requirements.” She creased her forehead and looked the garden over.
“May I help you?” he asked.