"She loves me, she loves me not," Abigail intoned while idly dismembering a daisy. "Silly really, there's so many layers between love and not love."
"Still," Martin sighed, "It's irrational to expect philosophic depths from a daisy.
"Of course," Abigail answered, beheading the daisy with a savage twist as it ended on "she loves me not," one needs at least a chrysanthemum for that. She stood up and closed the conversation with a wicked, "Mums the word now Martin" brushing her hands off on him as he covered his head and groaned.
"Tell me, Abby," he began, "would you have been any less savage had the daisy spoken of love?"
"Of course not," Abigail answered, twirling under the cotton candy sky, "Love -- and not love -- is a savage thing."
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