Long after my window was closed that voice remained in my ear like the
prolonged sound of an echo. I had never heard any like it, even in
Italy; it sounded through the half-closed teeth like those small
metallic lyres that the children of the Islands of the Archipelago use
when they play on the seashore. It was more like a ringing sound than
like a voice; I had noticed it, little dreaming that that voice would
ring loud and deep forever through my life. The next day I thought no
more of it.
One day, however, on returning home earlier, and entering by the little
garden-door near the arbor, I had a nearer view of the stranger, who
was seated on a bench under the southern wall, enjoying the warm rays
of the sun. She thought herself alone, for she had not heard the sound
of the door as I closed it behind me, and I could contemplate her
unobserved. We were within twenty paces of each other, and were only
separated by a vine, which was half-stripped of its leaves. The shade
of the vine-leaves and the rays of the sun played and chased each other
alternately over her face.
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