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Updated: May 24, 2025
Since this is a law of vibration, it is unscientific to speak of giving an overtone, for all tones contain overtones. Where these overtones are interfered with by any imperfection in the instrument the result is a harsh or imperfect sound. Thus the quality of the voice depends, not simply upon the condition of the vocal cords themselves, but upon the form and quality of the resounding cavities.
Mirabelle sat primly erect, but her voice had an unusual overtone. "Oh, no, I'm not a ninny. But good husbands don't grow on goose-berry bushes. If I'd ever found a man that had the right principles, and the respect of everybody, and not too much tom-foolishness a good, solid, earnest citizen I could be proud of " Mr. Mix interpolated a wary comment. "You didn't mention money." She sniffed.
There was a blending of the smells of coal oil and fresh cloth on bolts and the indefinable metallic smell of tinware, and behind it all an overtone of odour, as it were, of sweet growing things hay and grain and the fields Someone dropped a pan in the rear of the shop and Mr. Burrus looked around fiercely. When he again faced Joe, the harassed look was gone.
It was not with this, but with the reception and treatment of Mr. Adams that the true hostility began. Slights to him were slaps at us, sympathy with the South was an active moral injury to our cause, even if it was mostly an undertone, politically. Then all of a sudden, something that we did ourselves changed the undertone to a loud overtone, and we just grazed England's declaring war on us.
Under the late afternoon sun, the rolling waves of golden-green took on an aspect of measureless distance; clean reaches, absolutely unbroken by anything save their own majestic undulations. The most innocent landscape on earth, more enticing than the sand-desert its softer mystery breathed forth the faint searching perfume of growing things. Its undertone was well-being. Its overtone was peace.
Almost at once they caught the overtone of human joyousness, and they turned with smiles to each other, and it was "Pierre?" "Jack?" Then a nod, and she was in his arms, and they glided into the dance.
I can smile now at memory of the stuffy little parlour into which I was ushered, but I did not smile then at it, nor at the middle-aged woman who received me with a set smile of stereotyped placidity. Her name, I think, was Mallard. "Have you a conviction of disease, my daughter?" she asked, in a low voice with a caressing overtone gurgling in its cadences. "You look as radiant as the morn.
I peered hard into the blackness, but could distinguish nothing. "It is a man," the voice repeated. "He comes to live with us?" It was a thick voice, with something in it a kind of whistling overtone that struck me as peculiar; but the English accent was strangely good. The Ape-man looked at me as though he expected something. I perceived the pause was interrogative.
Such thoughts as these ran tumbling through the girl's mind; her rage and her resentment were real enough; nevertheless, through this overtone there ran another note; a small voice was speaking in the midst of all her tumult a small voice which she refused to listen to. "What I ever saw in him I don't know," she sneered, goading herself to further bitterness and stiffening her courage.
"Why, what are we stopping here for, dear?" Henry's laugh had a pronounced overtone. "To meet Mr. Archer. I thought you'd like to be in on it." "In on what?" She caught his arm. "Henry! Has something happened? Has it?"
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