"We ourselves shall be that fine day of summer," says Luce.
"The warm shade of the limetrees, the sun through the branches, the bees that sing...."
"The peach on the warm wall and its perfumed pulp...."
"The noon spell of the harvesters and their golden sheaves...."
"The lazy cattle that chew their cud...."
"And at evensong, by the sunset like a flowerset pool, the liquid light that runs across the tops of the fields...."
"Yes, we shall be everything," quoth Luce, "everything that is good and sweet to see and to have, to kiss and to eat, to touch and inhale.... What's left over we shall leave to them," she added, pointing to the city and its smoke wreaths.
She laughed. Then, kissing her friend, she said:
"We have chanted our little duet well. What do you say, my friend Pierrot?"
"Yea, verily, Jessica," he replied.