I guess she's vexed at somebody and is a peggin' it into the piany out of spite.
Now comes the singin'; see what faces she makes, how she stretches her mouth open, like a barn door, and turns up the white of her eyes, like a duck in thunder.

She is in a musical ecstasy is that gall, she feels good all over, her soul is a goin' out along with that ere music.

Oh, it's divine, and she is an angel, ain't she?
Yes, I guess she is, and when I'm an angel, I will fall in love with her; but as I'm a man, at least what's left of me, I'd jist as soon fall in love with one that was a leetle, jist a leetle more of a woman, and a leetle, jist a leetle less of an angel.

But hullo! what onder the sun is she about, why her voice is goin' down her own throat, to gain strength, and here it comes out agin as deep toned as a man's; while that dandy feller along side of her, is singin' what they call falsetter.

They've actilly changed voices.