CHAPTER 1.VI.
In a steamer chair, under a manuka tree that grew in the middle of the front grass patch, Linda Burnell dreamed the morning away.

She did nothing.

She looked up at the dark, close, dry leaves of the manuka, at the chinks of blue between, and now and again a tiny yellowish flower dropped on her.

Pretty--yes, if you held one of those flowers on the palm of your hand and looked at it closely, it was an exquisite small thing.

Each pale yellow petal shone as if each was the careful work of a loving hand.