1 He loved flowers, and arranging them, and placing the green sword or heart shaped leaf that came, fitly, between them.
2 "He is my husband," Isabella thought, as they nodded across the bunch of many-coloured flowers.
3 See the flowers, how they ray their redness, whiteness, silverness and blue.
4 The violet and the eglantine over the riven earth their flowers entwine.
5 I don't myself admire prize flowers, nor yet prize dogs.
6 It was strange that the earth, with all those flowers incandescent--the lilies, the roses, and clumps of white flowers and bushes of burning green--should still be hard.
7 The old woman looked down at the dead flowers she was carrying and cut her.
8 The flowers flashed before they faded.
9 When Isa looked at the flowers again, the flowers had faded.
10 Within the limits of his short tether he had tumbled about, annihilating the flowers of existence with greater singleness of purpose than many of the blatant personages whose company he kept.
11 And she did feel the peculiar, withering coldness under it all; like the soil of Labrador, which his gay little flowers on its surface, and a foot down is frozen.
12 And they were there, the short-stemmed flowers, rustling and fluttering and shivering, so bright and alive, but with nowhere to hide their faces, as they turned them away from the wind.
13 Even she caught the faint, tarry scent of the flowers.
14 She hated breaking the flowers, but she wanted just one or two to go with her.
15 The poor flowers hung over, limp on their stalks.