By A. Gautam She's always sad in April,
even when flowers bloom.
She says it gives her a fever.
Summer gives her more gloom.
She looks out of the window
quietly, when it rains.
She doesn't dance, instead she says,
"The sky is sad, it drops its chains."
She loves the winters more-
to dance and ski, we're told.
The wool, the scarves, and gloves
She loves the white, the cold.

to make more meth, buy some

to make orange chicken put orange paint on chicken

explanation:

c should be the correct answer

when connie willis was 12 years old, her mother died. in january of 2003, willis was interviewed for locus magazine. she recognized that death is a major issue in her writing, specially because the vacuous and appalling things that people tend to say in order to support you when someone you loved dies.

but there is another aspect that i have learned from connie willis's quote. in his famous work "danubio", the italian writer claudio magris describes literature as house removals. some messages reach us, other messages get lost in the labyrinth. those messages which are our inheritance teach us how to live and how to die, how to love and how to hate, how to laugh and how to cry. i think that tales really shape us if we listen to them. maybe through the stories we read we learn how to emphatize with others, knowing that the bells tolls for every each of us.