'So musical,' she replied, 'that it seemed to delight and charm, not
my mind only, but every nerve in my body.'
'Could you describe it?'
'Describe a voice,' she said, laughing. 'Who could describe a voice?'
'You, Winnie; only you. Do describe it.'
'I wonder,' she said, 'whether you remember our first walk along the
Raxton road, when I made invidious comparison between the voices of
birds and the voices of men and women?'
'Indeed I do,' I said. 'I remember how you suggested that among the
birds the rooks only could listen without offence to the cackle of a
crowd of people.'
'Well, Henry, I can only give you an idea of the gentleman's voice by
saying that the most fastidious blackbirds and thrushes that ever
lived would have liked it. Indeed they did seem to like it, as I
afterwards thought, when I took walks with him. It was music in every
variety of tone; and, besides, it seemed to me that this music was
enriched by a tone which I had learnt from your own dear voice as a
child, the tone which sorrow can give and nothing else.
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