She walked very slowly down the cinder-track of the long garden.
Clara had pulled a button from a hollyhock spire, and was breaking it to get the seeds.

Above her bowed head the pink flowers stared, as if defending her.

The last bees were falling down to the hive.
"Count your money," laughed Paul, as she broke the flat seeds one by one from the roll of coin.

She looked at him.
"I'm well off," she said, smiling.
"How much?
Pf!" He snapped his fingers.

"Can I turn them into gold ?" "I'm afraid not," she laughed.
They looked into each other's eyes, laughing.