Illustrated.
I took this a couple of days ago; by weekend-end, we had a flurry of roses out and a deep-red dazzler on the dining-room table. Wise writers, (e.g. Proust, for hundreds of pages) have held that actual pleasures can’t equal their anticipation; but in this case, it’s just that the rose-pictures came up a bit short of the bud-picture.
