![]() The bougainvillaea that sprawled luxuriously over the tiny front balcony was hung as though for a carnival, with its lantern-shaped magenta flowers. In the low growth the pansies pushed their velvety, innocent faces through the leaves, and the violets drooped sorrowfully under their heartshaped leaves. Roses dropped petals that seemed as big and smooth as saucers, flame red, moon-white, glossy and unwrinkled marigolds like broods of shaggy suns stood watching their parent’s progress through the sky. ![]() The white cobbled paths, scarcely as wide as a rake’s head, wound laboriously round beds hardly larger than a big straw hat, beds in the shape of stars, half-moons, triangles and circles, all overgrown with a shaggy tangle of flowers run wild. The garden, surrounded by tall fuchsia hedges, had the flowerbeds worked in complicated geometrical patterns, marked with smooth white stones. Its shutters had been faded by the sun to a delicate creamy-green, cracked and bubbled in places. The villa was small and square, standing in its tiny garden with an air of pink-faced determination. ![]()
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