The other package was a big box that when opened
showed its interior to be divided into compartments in each of
which nestled an exquisite flower made of spun sugar. The
petals, buds, and leaves were perfect. There were wonderful
roses with pale pink outer petals and deeper-colored hearts.
There were pink mallows that seemed as if they must have been cut
from the bushes bordering Santa Monica road. There were
hollyhocks of white and gold, and simply perfect tulips. Linda
never before had seen such a treasure candy box. She cried out
in delight, and hurried to show Katy. In her pleasure over the
real flowers and the candy flowers Linda forgot her dress, but
when she saw Peter Morrison standing tall and straight, in dinner
dress, she stopped and looked the surprise and pleasure she felt.
She had grown accustomed to Peter in khaki pottering around his
building. This Peter she never before had seen. He represented
something of culture, something of pride, a conformity to a nice
custom and something more. Linda was not a psychoanalyst.
She could not see a wonderful aura of exquisite color enveloping
Peter. But when Peter saw the girl approaching him, transformed
into a woman whose shining coronet was jewelled with his living
red rose, when he saw the beauty of her lithe slenderness clothed
in a soft, flaming color, something emanated from his inner
consciousness that Linda did see, and for an instant it disturbed
her as she went forward holding out her hands.
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