Just this morning I was listening to Noel Coward singing, “I went to a MAAAAAAVELOUS party with Nunu and Nada and Nell...”
I have hunted with the tribe, and have hitherto looked upon Nunu as a child.
The new-comer was the daughter of an Indian chief, and her name was Nunu.
His tone was cold, and Nunu listened with fixed lips and frowning eyes.
Nunu had not been seen since the first cluster of hanging flowers had hidden her from our sight as she bounded upward.
As Nunu came up the companionway from the cabin, I thought I had never seen a breathing creature so exquisitely lovely.
Nunu turned her head slowly around at last, and silently looked on.