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The voice was speaking now with a sort of whimsical and half-pathetic merriment, as if inclined to break into laughter at its own childish wistfulness. "M'ama; nun m'ama?" It broke off. He heard a little laugh. Then the song began again: "Maju viju, e maju cògghiu, Bona sorti di Diù vògghiu; Ciuri di maju cògghiu a la campía, Diù, pinz
There was an African sound in the girl's voice a sound of mystery that suggested heat and a force that could be languorous and stretch itself at ease. She was singing the song the Sicilian peasant girls join in on the first of May, when the ciuri di maju is in blossom, and the young countrywomen go forth in merry bands to pick the flower of May, and, turning their eyes to the wayside shrine, or, if there be none near, to the east and the rising sun, lift their hands full of the flowers above their heads, and, making the sign of the cross, murmur devoutly: "Divina Pruvidenza, pruvvidìtimi; Divina Pruvidenza, cunsul
He could not see her face. She spoke some words in dialect in a clear voice. There was no one else visible. Evidently she was talking to herself. Presently she laughed again, and began to sing once more: "Maju viju, e maju cògghiu, A la me'casa guaj nu' nni vògghiu; Ciuri di maju cògghiu a la campía, Oru ed argentu a la sacchetta mia!"
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