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Updated: June 19, 2025
Yes, but not the song of my friend the black-bird, not the mellow note that had wooed me to slumber and haunted my dreams. Music? Yes, but the voice was human, and the song articulate. I started, and rose upon my elbow to listen. The voice was human beyond a doubt sweetly human: it was that of a girl singing. But where? I looked around and saw nobody.
When is the time up?" Rosa inquired. "Bless you, this is already two weeks old!" her brother told her. "Why, then, it means that we'll be shot if we're caught." "Exactly! But we sha'n't be caught, eh? Let the timid ones take fright at the squeaks of this old black-bird. Let them go into the cities: we shall have the more to eat!" Esteban crumpled the paper in his hand and dropped it.
"Well," he said, "I have seen something to-night that I have never seen before, that I shall never see again, and that no man in this town has ever seen before, or will see again, unless he lives till the millennium." The others stared at him. "What d'ye mean?" asked the Squire. "I have seen something rarer than a white black-bird, and harder to discover than the north pole.
Seeing which, the Black-bird, like the true artist he was, fearing an anti-climax, very presently ended his song with a long-drawn, plaintive note. But Anthea sat there with her proud head bowed low, long after he had retired for the night.
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