“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. "Bring him out, Quilt. \" She said, and they walked down the pebble stone path designed for joggers and bikers. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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