A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte. You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it. A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible. You are in a garden, and you are astonished. - http://fourlittlebees.tumblr.com/post...