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“Trying to retain his enthusiasm, he led her toward the opening in the overgrown boxwood hedge where a pair of musk rose bushes formed a thorny turnstile, marking the exit from the garden to the fallow fields and woods beyond. They stopped to take deep, lung-filling inhalations of the musk roses' delicious, honeylike perfume. Exclaiming with unaffected joy at the roses' late-blooming beauty, Alice cupped one of the creamy white blossoms gracefully in her gloved hand. He picked one, pulled off the thorns, and offered it to her. She took it in silence, searching his face warily, then turned away and walked on. Lucien just stood there watching her, praying he wouldn't do anything wrong.” — Gaelen Foley
Trying to retain his enthusiasm, he led her toward the opening in the overgrown boxwood hedge where a pair of musk rose bushes formed a thorny turnstile, marking the exit from the garden to the fallow fields and woods beyond. They stopped to take deep, lung-filling inhalations of the musk roses' delicious, honeylike perfume. Exclaiming with unaffected joy at the roses' late-blooming beauty, Alice cupped one of the creamy white blossoms gracefully in her gloved hand. He picked one, pulled off the thorns, and offered it to her. She took it in silence, searching his face warily, then turned away and walked on. Lucien just stood there watching her, praying he wouldn't do anything wrong.