“A crown of thorns," he said, leaning into the room. "You ought to be careful." Harriet's hair was stuck in with a few wilting roses and thick tangles of thorns. She looked like a woman of the garden, born to the roses herself. She had somehow convinced her husband that dressing in this rather than in some ghoulish mask was superior, and though any kind of costume would have been uncomfortable, she supposed she would prefer to be surrounded by thorns she had saved from when she'd pruned back the garden. Something about it strengthened her.” Crown Of ThornsWear Who You Are Proud Book:The Peculiar Garden of Harriet Hunt Source: The Peculiar Garden of Harriet Hunt