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Updated: June 3, 2025
Suddenly he burst into a laugh so hearty, so spontaneous, so wholly foreign in its fine expression of good-natured raillery, to the tense atmosphere of accusation on the part of Mrs. Vanderlyn and supreme self-abnegation on the part of the old flute-player, which had, until this time, been vibrant in the room, that it seemed strangely, shockingly incongruous.
He was awakened from his dreams by the voice of Creede, low, vibrant, full of brotherly love. "Rufe," he was saying, "Miss Bonnair has told me a lot about you a lot I didn't know. She likes you, boy, and she's a good woman. I never knowed but one like her, and that was Sallie Winship. You mustn't let anything that's happened stand between you.
But he liked it, somehow one knew he liked it, knew that he was listening down there in the dusk. Perhaps Charlotte knew it, too. The vibrant twang slowed to richer chords, broke into rippling chromatic, caught a new measure, a minor note, and her contralto began: "I am going far away, far away to leave you now, To the Mississippi River I am going "
Already the sun had set there was no one in sight and just beyond the ridge the open country beckoned. "Lena," he said, his voice vibrant with reckless abandonment to his desire, "jump in here, quick!" There was no previous greeting, no inquiry or explanation, no dalliance with emotion. His first words were a command, her inevitable response was to obey.
A COO-EE sounded long, clear, vibrant. Moongarr Bill and Wombo, who had gone on ahead, were fixing camp. Lady Bridget's musical voice caught up the note. She answered it with another COO-EE, to Cudgee's delight. 'My word! Ba'al newchum, that feller white Mary, said he. They had rounded a knoll abutting on the green line of ti-trees and swamp oak.
Pride it was, in every muscle, nerve, and quiver of her conscious, sentient, stinging pride. She might be joyous and natural, boy and woman, fun and frolic; but always the pride was there, vibrant, tense, intrinsic, the basic stuff of which she was builded. She was a woman, frank, outspoken, straight- looking, plastic, democratic; but toy she was not.
Its two huge shoulders were of almost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared with oil. Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock and snow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds. MacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice was deep and vibrant with an intense emotion. Yet he was not excited.
The lyric tenor is light and flexible. The dramatic tenor is a ringing, vibrant voice, especially on the high notes. Probably it is the splendor of these high notes that is responsible for the theory that they are produced by carrying the chest register upward. In point of fact, a genuine chest register rarely is employed by tenors.
Now, however, the vibrant rasp of the radio spark was perceptibly stronger and had a background of subdued noise, echoes of distant voices, deadened sounds of hasty footfalls, now and again a heavy thump or the bang of a door. Moving out, he commanded the length of the corridor. Toward one end a door stood open.
Tarzan voiced a suppressed sigh for he had liked Om-at and then, with Ta-den, approached the edge and looked over. Far below, in the dim light of the coming dawn, two inert forms should be lying stark in death; but, to Tarzan's amazement, such was far from the sight that met his eyes. Instead, there were the two figures still vibrant with life and still battling only a few feet below him.
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