"You took long enough," she sniffed."And young man, my name is Rose—Rose Honeysuckle" she said, softening slightly. "You know... like the old song, ...Honeysuckle Rose."She sings a few bars off key... !I didn't know the song. What is this, some kind of operetta? I thought. But, I'm on a roll here; so, I decided to cut right to the chase."Mrs. Honeysuckle," I asked, "Is it true you have a flower that talks?" I asked, as I tried to keep a straight face—hoping to get the facts."I do," she said,. Mechanically, she went through the motions of dusting and doing laundry, her fate beyond her ability to control.She prepared dinner as unenthusiastically as she had completed the housework. With the cooking under control, she dragged herself to the bathroom where she bathed, styled her hair and applied some makeup to hide the bruises. She again applied burn ointment to her nipple. The burn was not that serious, but still extremely painful, a constant reminder of why she was doing exactly what. More

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