Squirts a bit of orange out of the bottle–the kind grown in a greenhouse out of its climate zone, then sniffs some happy springtime flowers that haven’t realized they will be cut for a funeral arrangement.

A furtive sweep of pistachio shells to the floor when no one is looking, like an actress who hides that she actually eats, and veils her personality in a smile of artificial white musk.

Jade seems over-designed, a lovely semi-precious stone turned cheap and sad by a clumsy electroplate setting.