"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 love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.
- The dewdrops pearl...
Lenehan's lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy.
- But look this way, he said, rose of Castile." (U11.323)