fit,“ and tfits, leaves, flags and sea t lay ted as if sprinkled  meant to fill a grave begin to ripple in times o be seen tterfly illustrates it, t s life to be jubilation. Indeed, te magnificent go eacime stops, whe Devil never appears.”

    terfly kno enoug e rigo  in  devoid of deptings, not men of to struggle terfly is icisms, poor man,  times grourists ed t akenly believes to be devilry and ten t straightforward evil and envy.

    es me because o its ecstasy, but only reac  ’s anotists alent yet more able tterfly to surrender to t.

    In o make up for comings, Butterfly is preoccupied  o art. Like turists ures almost invisible to te and delicate craftsmanso tion, ors at an early age, because alent Allaed  miniaturists paint eacree to make an easy name for to gain importance in trons.

    Butterfly’s inclination to design and illustrate for otrollable need to please oto praise. And so it follo an uncertain Butterfly s to ensure anding by becoming or. It was Black w.

    “Yes,” I said, “I knoer I die.”

    “Do you to murder urist brethren?”

    “It mig master, but  a leave ts.”

    I said t in trutoo, ed Butterfly to assume leaderser me. I couldn’t trust Olive, and in tork tingly become slave to tian style. Butterfly’s need to be admired—I  at t t ake a life—al in an. Only Butterfly’s sensitivity and faitte could resist tian artistry t duped trying to depict reality itself rats representation, in all its detail: pictures, ss, candlesticks, cables,