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You have only to say one word and I would know your voice among all other voices. I don’t know what it is – I’ve often wondered – that makes your voice such a – haunting memory. . . . Do you remember that first afternoon we spent together at Kew Gardens? You were so surprised because I did not know the names of any flowers. I am still just as ignorant for all your telling me. But whenever it is very fine and warm, and I see some bright colours – it’s awfully strange – I hear your voice saying : “Geranium, marigold and verbena.” And I feel those three words are all I recall of some forgotten, heavenly language. . . .
