Clifford tripped on a garden tool. It was Oliver's, his friendly neighbour.
Constance desired a garden sans frontieres, so Clifford dropped his fences.
He could revert to stonewalling.
The thought hurt his back.
Instead he planted Rose between the two houses.
'Pretty sharp,' grimaced Constance.
'I am' he said.
----
a/n
prompt:
a throw-away pastiche based on DH Lawrence's classic of garden/er lovers
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