'Marguite. That is a beautiful name. In french it means daisy, no?' said in broken french and her face danced with shadows, reminding me of shadow play, as she played with her fingers and the afternoon sunlight. The grass was brushing her hair slightly. 'No. Marguerite means daisy. It doesn't mean anything. I mean nothing.' I reaplied. I wasn't angry as I would usually be. I didn't seem to care anymore. 'How come. How come you are not a daisy?' she turned to face me. I shrugged my shoulders. I actually never thought about that. I kept looking on clouds and let the question fly away with time and the sky above me. -this is a translated version of my book •Sedmikráska•All Rights Reserved
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