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Updated: May 6, 2025
A huge sombre cloud, flecked with livid blotches, stretched over the whole seaward sky-line, with long ragged streamers whirled out in front of it. Far behind them the two galleys labored heavily, now sinking between the rollers until their yards were level with the waves, and again shooting up with a reeling, scooping motion until every spar and rope stood out hard against the sky.
"He's that handy with a child, sir, you wouldn't think 'Deed you wouldn't." Then, stooping to the baby as it ate its supper, "But I'm saying, young woman, is there no sleep in your eyes to-night?" "No, but nodding away here like a wood-thrush in a tree," said Pete. He was ladling the pobs into the child's mouth, and scooping the overflow from her chin. "Sleep's a terrible enemy of this one, sir.
"Baptized yet?" became his stereotyped question, as he reached out his terrible hands. Several score lay down in the snow in a long row, while many others knelt in mock humility, scooping snow upon their heads and claiming the rite accomplished. But a group of five stood upright, backwoodsmen and frontiersmen, they, eager to contest any man's birthday.
Down below, the rasping sound of rough salt rubbed on rough flesh sounded like the whirring of a grindstone steady undertune to the "click-nick" of knives in the pen; the wrench and shloop of torn heads, dropped liver, and flying offal; the "caraaah" of Uncle Salters's knife scooping away backbones; and the flap of wet, open bodies falling into the tub.
As a spade could not be employed a large shell left by the natives was used for scooping up the dirt, which made the operation both slow and tiresome. Our horses were dreadfully fagged and very thirsty after the severe toil they had endured in dragging the drays through so heavy a scrub, but with all our exertions we could only obtain from the spring about two buckets of water apiece for them.
Then he grinned, and, scooping a handful of snow, sent it fairly against the glass. Instantly, the windows banged up, and six heads thrust themselves out. "Good night! Merry Christmas, old man! Happy New Year!" Something smashed softly against Satherwaite's cheek. He looked back. They were gathering snow from the ledges and throwing snowballs after him. "Good shot!" he called. "Merry Christmas!"
Had Sylvia been just a few years older, the young man would have thought himself in love with her. The following day passed gloomily. It was hot and sultry, and a dull haze hung over the mountains. Frere spent the morning in scooping a grave in the sand, in which to inter poor Bates.
And she rushed out into the hall and began to tug violently at the big bundle, tossed down in a corner. "Cherry'll die Cherry'll die!" she cried, "do somebody help me off with the string!" But Polly already had it off by the time Jasper's knife was half out of his pocket, and was kneeling down on the floor scooping out a big handful of the seed.
Then the beavers began laying mud and stones and moss on this brush foundation, scooping them up with their hands, and holding them under their chins as they waddled or swam to the dam.
The way to place the tone forward is to think it forward. The student must think the tone into place. "To 'attack' a tone is to sing it at once, without any scooping, and with free open throat. When the throat is tightened the student loses power to attack her tones in the right way. "Phrasing, in a limited sense, is simply musical punctuation.
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