And again came radiant June. It was evening, the exquisite¹ hour of twilight². I was alone in my brother's study where I had been for some time; the window was opened wide to a sky all golden and pink, and I stood beside it and listened to the martins uttering their shrill³ cries as they circled and darted⁴ above the old roofs.  
No one knew that I was there, and never before had I felt so isolated⁵ at the top of the house, nor more tempted⁶ by the unknown.
 
With a beating heart I opened a volume of De Musset's poems: his Don Paez.
 
The first phrases were as musical and rhythmical⁷ as if sung by a seductive golden-voiced siren:
 
    &............