占い1

said Sheila, wiping her eyes.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“It’s just so strange to see him so ... still.”
May knew what she meant. Any brief time with Carlisle yielded one important fact of his existence: at least one part of him was always in motion. When a hand stopped moving, a foot took over. When that ceased, a finger would reach up and scratch his neck. Heck, May had even seen his hair move on its own.
He seemed to possess a restless energy which he controlled from building up to explosive proportions by letting out in bits like the release of a static charge. Sheila was right; it was eerie to see him so still.
“What was that?” Sheila said suddenly, looking up.
“What was what?” May could only hear the occasional dropping down of the fruit from the trees around them.
“Music. From over there,” Sheila said, motioning with her head to a hill dotted with daisies nearby.
Very faintly at first and growing gradually louder, May began to hear it, too—the high refrain of a flute.
Then a remarkable set of people crested the hill. A young girl danced in front of a sedan chair being carried by four hulking men in white wigs, satin coats and breeches. Each of the men had on a different color: one was in powder blue, one in lilac, one in rose, and one in peach.
Four musicians in white satin playing harps and flutes came next followed by a smiling throng of about thirty beautiful people of all races.
Resting languidly on the sedan chair was a beautiful woman that May had the feeling she had seen before.
“That looks like the lady in the shell,” said Sheila.
“You’re right. That’s who she is. It’s Venus. Your mom has Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.”
“Are those like the angels in the picture?” asked Sheila, astonished by several handsome winged beings flying around and through the trees.
May shook her head. “Zephyrs,” corrected May, also awestruck by their graceful movements.
The sedan chair stopped a few feet in front of them, and the entourage of beautiful people halted