two hundred fifty-three. [Fade to Browns.]
It’s not that Rae is snooping, it’s just that she needs something to read and doesn’t think Frank would mind. She has a fondness for epics, and is therefore drawn to the biggest books on the shelf.
She pulls one down, frowns at the title. “I didn’t know you read French poetry, Frank,” Rae says, and Frank frowns too.
“I don’t,” he says, “Not exactly.”
When she opens the book to flower-petals, she assumes that pressing flowers is the reason he’s kept it.
[Tulips are too brittle to be saved, thinks Frank, and all the yellows have long since faded away.]
She pulls one down, frowns at the title. “I didn’t know you read French poetry, Frank,” Rae says, and Frank frowns too.
“I don’t,” he says, “Not exactly.”
When she opens the book to flower-petals, she assumes that pressing flowers is the reason he’s kept it.
[Tulips are too brittle to be saved, thinks Frank, and all the yellows have long since faded away.]