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Chapter 17

           Shelookedatthewindowinwhichthecandleflamesburntbrighternowthatthepaneswereblack,andlookingatthatoutsidethevoicescametoherverystrangely,asiftheywerevoicesataserviceinacathedral,forshedidnotlistentothewords.Thesuddenburstsoflaughterandthenonevoice(Minta’s)speakingalone,remindedherofmenandboyscryingouttheLatinwordsofaserviceinsomeRomanCatholiccathedral.Shewaited.Herhusbandspoke.Hewasrepeatingsomething,andsheknewitwaspoetryfromtherhythmandtheringofexultation,andmelancholyinhisvoice:

           

           Comeoutandclimbthegardenpath,LurianaLurilee.

           TheChinaroseisallabloomandbuzzingwiththeyellowbee.

           

           Thewords(shewaslookingatthewindow)soundedasiftheywerefloatinglikeflowersonwateroutthere,cutofffromthemall,asifnoonehadsaidthem,buttheyhadcomeintoexistenceofthemselves.

           

           Andallthelivesweeverlivedandallthelivestobe

           Arefulloftreesandchangingleaves.

           

           Shedidnotknowwhattheymeant,but,likemusic,thewordsseemedtobespokenbyherownvoice,outsideherself,sayingquiteeasilyandnaturallywhathadbeeninhermindthewholeeveningwhileshesaiddifferentthings.Sheknew,withoutlookinground,thateveryoneatthetablewaslisteningtothevoicesaying:

           Iwonderifitseemstoyou,Luriana,Lurilee

           withthesamesortofreliefandpleasurethatshehad,asifthiswere,atlast,thenaturalthingtosay,thisweretheirownvoicespeaking.

           Butthevoicehadstopped.Shelookedround.Shemadeherselfgetup

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