"I know." Tony dropped into a chair opposite the girl. "It's late," he
said softly. "You shouldn't be here this time of night, Mrs. Haley."
The girl thought about that. "You're Mr. Radek, aren't you? In the
Execution Office?"
"Call me Tony, Mrs. Haley."
"All right, Tony. Yes, it's late. I hadn't noticed, but I suppose
you're right."
"You should go home, Mrs. Haley." He stopped, then lied a little.
"They'll let you know. You don't have to worry."
_You don't have to worry. They're bringing the guy up now, little
girl, but you don't have to worry. Old hell-hips is getting a ritual
rose now, little girl, but you don't have to worry._
As if he'd deliberately telepathed the thought, the girl said suddenly:
"Tony, is--is it true about the furious roses? I mean, if a man is
found guilty, do they--?"
"The 'furious' roses, Mrs. Haley?" He smiled. "I see. You mean because
they're so red. Yes, it's true. Ritual roses, we call them, but that's
nothing. Nothing at all. A custom only. A symbol handed down. It means
nothing."
"I know." The girl nodded again. "When we were children, we always
called them the furious roses because they were a furious red. We
always used to say that if an innocent man was executed, the furious
red rose would right away turn white, Tony. To show they'd been wrong
about him."