““Bea had to admit that the landscape was rather pretty, with all those sparkling drops hanging off branches (waiting to destroy one's clothing, but one mustn't be squeamish about it). And the birds were singing, and so forth. She even saw a yellow flower that was rather nice, although mud-splattered. "Look!" she said, trying to be friendly. 'A daffodil!' 'Yellow celandine,' her companion said curtly. After that, Bea gave up the effort of conversation and just tramped along.””
