1 She had been waked by the birds.
2 On the top of their matted branches birds sang.
3 Then the random ribbons of birds' voices woke her.
4 The window was open now; the birds certainly were singing.
5 It was unlikely, she thought, that the birds were the same.
6 "Swallows," said Lucy, holding her cup, looking at the birds.
7 There was a bird with a straw in its beak; and the straw dropped.
8 She turned the pages looking at pictures--mammoths, mastodons, prehistoric birds.
9 Ducking up and down she cast her quick bird's eye over the bushes at the audience.
10 She perched on the edge of a chair like a bird on a telegraph wire before starting for Africa.
11 The little grapes above them were green buds; the leaves thin and yellow as the web between birds' claws.
12 It was a daylight bird, chuckling over the substance and succulence of the day, over worms, snails, grit, even in sleep.
13 The drone of the trees was in their ears; the chirp of birds; other incidents of garden life, inaudible, invisible to her in the bedroom, absorbed them.
14 As they listened and looked--out into the garden--the trees tossing and the birds swirling seemed called out of their private lives, out of their separate avocations, and made to take part.
15 The tree became a rhapsody, a quivering cacophony, a whizz and vibrant rapture, branches, leaves, birds syllabling discordantly life, life, life, without measure, without stop devouring the tree.
16 Sitting on the bed he heard her sing, swinging her little legs, "Come and see my sea weeds, come and see my sea shells, come and see my dicky bird hop upon its perch"--an old child's nursery rhyme to help a child.
17 Before there was a channel, when the earth, upon which the Windsor chair was planted, was a riot of rhododendrons, and humming birds quivered at the mouths of scarlet trumpets, as she had read that morning in her Outline of History, they had come.
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