It was not an old voice, though he couldn't be sure, not seeing her.
Thirty-five, say. Jadiver resented the intrusion at a time like this. He
was trying to sleep, or think, he wasn't sure which.
"Now, hon, we can't," Henry whispered back. "We've bought the land and
nobody's going to buy it back."
"We bought it when they told us there would be roses," said the woman,
loud and bitter. "Great big roses, so big that most of the plant grew
below ground, only the flower showing. So big, no stem could support
them."
"Well, hon--"
"Don't hon me. There _are_ roses, ten feet across, all over our land,
just like they said." Her voice rose higher. "Mud roses, that's what
they are. Stinking mud roses that collapse into a slimy hole in the
ground."
She sniffled again. "Did you notice the pictures they showed us? People
standing by the roses with their heads turned away. And you know why the
pictures were like that? Because they didn't dare show us the
expressions on those people's faces, that's why."
"It's not so bad," said the man soothingly. "Maybe we can do something
about it."
"What can we do? The roses poison cattle and dogs run away from the
smell. And we're humans. We're stronger, we're supposed to take it."
"I've been thinking," said Henry quietly. "I could take a long pipe and
run it at an angle to the roots. I could force concrete through the pipe
and seal it off below ground. When it collapsed, the rose wouldn't grow
back."