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Updated: May 11, 2025
The instant it passed the zone of green, it flashed out brilliant turquoise, and in the same instant I recognized it and reached for my gun. Before I retrieved the bird, a second, dull and dark-feathered, flew from the tree. I had watched it for some time, but now, as it passed over, I saw no yellow and knew it too was of real scientific interest to me; and with the second barrel I secured it.
The blasts of the Wagnerian brasses, galloping in the mad ride of the Valkyries, made the marble columns shake and seemed to give life to the four golden horses that reared over space with silent whinnies on the cornice of St. Mark's. The dark-feathered doves of Venice scattered in playful spirals, somewhat frightened at the music, finally settled, like rain, on the tables of the café.
All dark-feathered fowl, with their tendency to green legs and black pin-feathers, look spotted, long dead, and unsavory.
Upon entering the room, we were greeted by the presence of a score of dark-feathered creatures, crows or rooks, whichever you please to call them, handsome, familiar, notorious birds, whose black, shining plumage was daintily shot with blue, disposed here and there in cool, unblushing possession of the premises.
Frosty air, rimmed tree-trunks, naked branches, aurora all seem as unreal as stage properties, when phoe-be! comes to our ears. Yes, there is the little dark-feathered, tail-wagging fellow, hungry no doubt, but sure that when the sun warms up, Mother Nature will strew his aerial breakfast-table with tiny gnats, precocious, but none the less toothsome for all that.
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