I will not paint the last leaf on for her. I simply cannot. She would not let me any way. Never could get through to her in any way. She will have to live and die that way. She is so lost but simply cannot be consoled by pity. She cannot be consoled or even controlled. She has become the anger that I insist is a gift to me. And what I must never be. Cold, dead heart. She will get hers. What she saves for is what she'll lose out in the end. Peace! and love. You all are such daisies!