The Blood of the RoseNot much greenery was left anymore, but whatever remained had to be preserved. That’s why he was holding the water pipe, directing a steady stream onto the plant in the corner of the lawn, where the garden’s only rose had barely bloomed today.After taking off his round cap and placing it on the chair, his smooth, fair, moon-like bald head gleamed in the soft sunlight. He had rolled up the hems of his salwar slightly. Below his ankles, his pristine white feet—now slightly damp—looked freshly cleansed, matching his immaculate white beard.In such a large mansion, not