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Mumble and grumble all about him, and men's faces showing that they were agreeing with the tremolo appeals of the elderly orators!
The song had puzzled me at first, for though extraordinary in volume for a bird of his size, and possessing that indefinable wren quality, that abandon and unexpectedness, as if it were that instant inspired, it had yet few notes, and I missed the exquisite tremolo that makes the song of the winter-wren so bewitching.
Vibrato is the first stage, tremolo the second; a third and last, and much more hopeless, shows itself in flat singing on the upper middle tones of the register.
"How do you know?" Lucy asked, looking at the incoming schooner from under her half-closed lids. The voice came like the thin piping of a flute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded so as to let everybody know it was present. "One of my carriages was shipped by her. I paid Captain Farguson the freight just before I went away." "What's her name?" slight tremolo only a note or two.
The frogs croaked, and in the meadows the melodious fluting of the toads arose. The shrill tremolo of the grasshoppers seemed to answer the twinkling of the stars. The wind rustled softly in the branches of the alders. From the hills above the river there came down the sweet light song of a nightingale. "What need is there to sing?" sighed Gottfried, after a long silence.
Treason of that high nature sacrilege, rather, for Nero was then a god might have been overlooked, had it occurred but once, for Nero could be magnanimous when he chose. But it always occurred. To Nero's tremolo invariably came the accompaniment of Vespasian's snore. He was dreaming of that tooth, no doubt. "I am not a soporific, am I?" Nero gnashed at him, and sent the blasphemer away.
They took occasion to rebuke the new spirit of unrest in the old party, and their tremolo notes of protest were extremely effective.
Laodice, too worn to observe, sat still; but Momus, with a rush of old fairy-tales in mind, sprang to her side and seized her arm. His alarmed eyes searched the dark landscape for whatever visitation it had to reveal. There was the rush of countless hoof-beats and a low cloud of dust obscured the crest of the hill just above them. The soft tremolo of multitudinous bleating came out of it.
So we come back to the old myth, and hear the goat-footed piper making the music which is itself the charm and terror of things; and when a glen invites our visiting footsteps, fancy that Pan leads us thither with a gracious tremolo; or, when our hearts quail at the thunder of the cataract, tell ourselves that he has stamped his hoof in the nigh thicket.
When Kedzie pulled out the tremolo stop and looked up, big-eyed, and pouted at him, Skip was hers. "Your husband, Anitar? Your husband here? Why, the low-life hound! I'll go up and kill him for you if you want me to." Kedzie explained that she didn't want to get her dear Skip into any trouble, but she did want his help.
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