I am but twenty.

As I have never lived, I have never grown old.

Life translates itself into music--a wild "Invitation to the Waltz" by some Archangel Weber.

I laugh out loud.

Polyphemus, who has been regarding me with his one bantering eye from Carlotta's corner on the sofa, leaps to the ground and grotesquely curvets round the room in a series of impish hops.