(June had drawn out every leaf on the trees. The mothers of Pimlico gave suck to their young. Messages were passing from the Fleet to the Admiralty. Arlington Street and Piccadilly seemed to chafe the very air in the Park and lift its leaves hotly, brilliantly, on waves of that divine vitality which Clarissa loved. To dance, to ride, she had adored all that.)

June has never looked more beautiful than she does now, unadorned and honest, vulnerable yet invincible.

June cackled with delight, muttering, Whoops! as a car almost killed them.

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.