āā āā ā¦ the morn is breaking.
A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of loveās leavetaking, lifeās, loveās morn.
ā The dewdrops pearlā āā ā¦
Lenehanās lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy.
āBut look this way, he said, rose of Castile.
Jingle jaunted by the curb and stopped.
She rose and closed her reading, rose of Castile. Fretted forlorn, dreamily rose.
āDid she fall or was she pushed? he asked her.