"Like the bee, we distill poison from honey for our self-defense--what happens to the bee if it uses its sting is well known."

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The honeysuckle was everywhere the day the letter arrived, like heat. Wild roses bloomed in hedges of tendrils and perfume. There were fat bees, dirigible bees, plump and miniature. It was a sweet, tangled morning, and the sun rose, leisurely, in a spectacular blush.

— Cathleen Schine