“They must be killed before they can damage themselves.”
T.W. thought that this hobby sounded morbid, but did not voice his opinion aloud. “Why do you collect them?”
“You have seen butterflies?”
“Certainly, though I’ve never studied them up close.”
“I find that they contain a beauty that surpasses even the most gorgeous flowers and sunsets. I have made paintings of them, but none can ever match their true splendor.” The Widow Evertson’s eyes shone with admiration and envy. “I have a glass display in my home that contains five hundred specimens whereat I often sit for hours and wonder at the patterns and colors and how such beauty could ever come to exist in this world.”
The barmaid arrived, set a glass of red wine in front of the widow, and placed a stein of warm beer before the widow
