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Page "Everyone Says I Love You" ¶ 60
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Her and voice
Her voice dropped.
Her voice shook with feeling, and he thought it lovely.
Her voice was ripe and full and her teeth flashed again in Sicilian brilliance before the warm curved lips met and her mouth settled in repose.
Her voice came shrill.
Her voice was flat and dull.
Her trademark sound is achieved by layering her voice as many as 80 times.
* Trilogie van de Laatste Dag ( 1996 – 97 ) ( each of its three sections may be performed separately: ( i ) The Last Day ( texts by Lucebert, folksong A Woman and Her Lass ) for boy soprano, 4 male voices, orchestra ; ( ii ) TAO ( texts by Laozi, Kotaro Takamura ) for 4 female voices, piano voice, koto, small orchestra winds, 2 horns, harp, piano (+ celesta ), 2 percussion, minimum 14 strings ; ( iii ) Dancing on the Bones ( text by the composer ) for children's chorus, orchestra, 1997 )
The Prime Minister also acts as the public " face " and " voice " of Her Majesty's Government, both at home and abroad.
Her voice reminded me of Tanya Tucker, it had strength and character, a lot of feeling.
Her father, John W. Bullock ( born 1925 ), was a United States Army employee and part-time voice coach from Birmingham, Alabama, and her mother, Helga D. Meyer ( 1942 – 2000 ), was a German opera singer and voice teacher.
Her Iowa-born maternal grandmother, Dorothy ( Anderson ) Fries, was a voice coach.
Her physical condition may have limited her mobility on the stage, but the charm of her voice, which had altered little with age, ensured her triumphs.
Edward wrote fondly of his mother in his memoirs: " Her soft voice, her cultivated mind, the cosy room overflowing with personal treasures were all inseparable ingredients of the happiness associated with this last hour of a child's day ...
Her years with Pablo Records also documented the decline in her voice.
Her subsequent instructions from the " voice " directed her to take on Sheena Govan has her spiritual teacher, and became a spiritual teacher and new age author, best known as one of the founders of the Findhorn Foundation community.
Upon her death, writer Jean Cocteau observed in an obituary, " Her voice, slightly off-key, was that of the Parisian street hawkers — the husky, trailing voice of the Paris people.
Her voice has been described as mezzo-soprano, of near-flawless tonal quality, capable of lending itself to a variety of musical styles with apparent ease.
Music critic Alan Blyth said " Her voice was a rich, vibrant contralto of intrinsic beauty.
Her voice is little more than a whisper, and she has no odor, but her shadow smells musky and pungent, like the skin of a snake.
Her films are also experimental in form ; most eschew synchronized sound, using voice over to allude to, rather than tell, a story ; spoken text is juxtaposed with images whose relation to what is said may be more-or-less indirect.
" Her 7: 58 am transmission said she couldn't hear the Itasca and asked them to send voice signals so she could try to take a radio bearing ( this transmission was reported by the Itasca as the loudest possible signal, indicating Earhart and Noonan were in the immediate area ).
Her distinctive voice has been supplied for animated characters, film narration and AOL's " You have email " notification in the UK.

Her and was
Her face was very thin, and burned by the sun until much of the skin was dead and peeling, the new skin under it red and angry.
Her blond hair was frowzy, her dress torn in several places, and her shoes were so completely worn out that they were practically no protection.
Her form was silhouetted and with the strong light I could see the outlines of her body, a body that an artist or anyone else would have admired.
Her mouth, which had been so much in my thoughts, was warm and moist and tender.
Her heart, her maternal feeling, in fact her being was too busy expressing itself, as quietly thrilled by this sight of her Nicolas curled asleep under a blanket, in a park like a scene from Poussin.
Her white blond hair was clean and brushed long straight down to her shoulders.
Her thick hair was the color and texture of charcoal.
Her laugh was hard.
Her face was pale but set and her dark eyes smoldered with blame for Ben.
Her stern was down and a sharp list helped us to cut loose the lifeboat which dropped heavily into the water.
Her name was L'Turu and she told me many things.
( Her account was later confirmed by the Scobee-Frazier Expedition from the University of Manitoba in 1951.
Her mother was a good manager and established a millinery business in Milwaukee.
Her name was Esther Peter.
Her brother Karl was a very gentle soul, her mother was a quiet woman who said little but who had hard, probing eyes.
Her mother, now dead, was my good friend and when she came to tell us about her plans and to show off her ring I had a sobering wish to say something meaningful to her, something her mother would wish said.
Her action was involuntary.
Her name was Mollie.
Her speech was barren of southernisms ; ;
Her quarters were on the right as you walked into the building, and her small front room was clogged with heavy furniture -- a big, round, oak dining table and chairs, a buffet, with a row of unclaimed letters inserted between the mirror and its frame.
Her hair was dyed, and her bloom was fading, and she must have been crowding forty, but she seemed to be one of those women who cling to the manners and graces of a pretty child of eight.

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