The mockingbirds and the jays, engaged in their old feud for possession of the magnolia tree beneath her window, were bickering, the jays strident, acrimonious, the mockers sweet voiced and plaintive.
The late afternoon sky bloomed in the window for a moment like the blue honey of the Mediterranean—then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee called me back into the room.
All I remember being taught was that bats make high-pitched sounds to echolocate as they fly around, but it sounds like there's a lot more to it than that.
There was another silence, broken at length by Miss Brinklow's shrill voice: " I'm sure I don't know who you are, Mr. Barnard, though I must say I guessed all along you were traveling incognito" .
There was no near sound, — no steam-engine at work with beat and pant, — no click of machinery, or mingling and clashing of many sharp voices; but far away, the ominous gathering roar, deep-clamouring.