You say she is as white as a pear blossom, and the garden path has never been swept.
She smiled softly. The smile spread faintly from the corner of his mouth, like the scent of mint. Pear blossoms, white as snow.
Those four words left him speechless. She sat down gently, as if untouched by worldly concerns, and her fingertips settled on the strings, trembling lightly. The music began again, its rises and falls stirring in his chest. He saw her fingers, white as pear blossoms.
This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.
