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’
The
birds
sang
in
chorus
first
,
’
said
Rhoda
.
’
Now
the
scullery
door
is
unbarred
.
Off
they
fly
.
Off
they
fly
like
a
fling
of
seed
.
But
one
sings
by
the
bedroom
window
alone
.
’
’
Bubbles
form
on
the
floor
of
the
saucepan
,
’
said
Jinny
.
’
Then
they
rise
,
quicker
and
quicker
,
in
a
silver
chain
to
the
top
.
’
’
Now
Billy
scrapes
the
fish
-
scales
with
a
jagged
knife
on
to
a
wooden
board
,
’
said
Neville
.
’
The
dining
-
room
window
is
dark
blue
now
,
’
said
Bernard
,
’
and
the
air
ripples
above
the
chimneys
.
’
’
A
swallow
is
perched
on
the
lightning
-
conductor
,
’
said
Susan
.
’
And
Biddy
has
smacked
down
the
bucket
on
the
kitchen
flags
.
’
’
That
is
the
first
stroke
of
the
church
bell
,
’
said
Louis
.
’
Then
the
others
follow
;
one
,
two
;
one
,
two
;
one
,
two
.
’
’
Look
at
the
table
-
cloth
,
flying
white
along
the
table
,
’
said
Rhoda
.
’
Now
there
are
rounds
of
white
china
,
and
silver
streaks
beside
each
plate
.
’
’
Suddenly
a
bee
booms
in
my
ear
,
’
said
Neville
.
’
It
is
here
;
it
is
past
.
’
’
I
burn
,
I
shiver
,
’
said
Jinny
,
’
out
of
this
sun
,
into
this
shadow
.
’
