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Updated: May 29, 2025
One, two, three twit-twit-twit-tweet!" The birds burst into their usual ecstasy of singing, and the Count chirruped and whistled at them in return, as if he was a bird himself. My room door is open, and I can hear the shrill singing and whistling at this very moment. If I am really to slip out without being observed, now is my time.
"Come out on my little finger, my pret-pret-pretties!" cried the voice. "Come out and hop upstairs! One, two, three and up! Three, two, one and down! One, two, three twit-twit-twit-tweet!" The Count was exercising his canaries as he used to exercise them in Marian's time at Blackwater Park. I waited a little while, and the singing and the whistling ceased.
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