Bluebell “You’re not supposed to pluck them,” David pointed out, but otherwise made no further attempt to stop Saito from doing so. He straightened and studied the drooping flower with no less intensity than when he studied people, their faces and their fates.
“It is a beautiful flower,” Saito observed. That might have been a smile.
“It’s a protected species.”
David and Saito looked out of place, admiring flowers in their business shirts, pants and leather shoes.
“Beautiful things ought to be protected.”
David smiled at that, and shrugged.
“Maybe we shouldn’t protect them. Beautiful things tend not to last forever.”