Word: shrilled
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...people hard of hearing, one must speak distinctly and slowly, not loudly. A stump speaker's shouting is only a blur of tones to his listeners. In old people, the receiving apparatus of the ear becomes less elastic than in youth; it does not respond quickly to short waves (shrill) sounds. Words or notes of music following in fast succession run together and cannot be distinguished. The condition is presbyotia (old age hearing). Presbyotes cannot hear cricket chirps, nor high pitched yodeling...
...crew coxswain is a wizened creature, pale and weak from worry and reducing. All he needs is a shrill voice and a pair of skinny hands to work the rudder. Yet it is he who gives commands to the eight hulking beasts ahead of him. St. Bonaventure College plays football with a coxswain instead of a quarterback. Francis Flynn badgered and generalled ten great brutes to a 57-0 victory over Alfred. Despairing of their clumsy, earnest efforts, he himself carried the ball 310 yards, once for 93 and touchdown. He is a quarterback, captain of the eleven, weighs...
...line of wooden barges, humped like haymows on the water; wheeled his great ship to pass a steamer. AH he rounded it, he saw the lights of a Norwegian freighter, the Beesengen, riding at anchor. It was too late to swing the bow, too late to reverse his course. Shrill bells and whistles sounded as the bow of the Paris drove into the side of the dingy ship...
...existed a feeling in certain quarters that there was one undergraduate mood or type which was receiving no adequate expression. The answer would appear to be found in the Hound and Horn, whose bay is akin to a yelp from the Village and whose blast is more dulcet than shrill. Not a popular magazine in content, in fact apparently somewhat proud of its aloofness, its appeal is directed to the denizens of the candle-lit tea rooms, those flery spirits to whom James Joyce is an immortal and Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot minor prophets. The sincerity of this...
...eight guns boomed, at Peking last week in terrific salute. At the Hall of Ceremonies, an imposing structure on a tiny island in the middle of a toy lake, hundreds of Chinese officers and diplomats prostrated themselves thrice. A Chinese band struck up the national anthem-to Western ears shrill and squealing. At the focus of this orgy of homage stood a slim, imperious Chinese, clad from neck to heel in a gorgeous, shimmering, blue silk Field Marshal's uniform of his own invention. This personage was the War Lord of Manchuria and North China, the great Chang...