Her voice was querulous, but strongly shrill.

It could penetrate every wall and door.

Ann Edwards, as she sat in her rocking-chair, lifted up her voice, and it sounded all over her house like a trumpet, and all her household marched to it.
"Been over in the pasture," answered Jerome, with quick and yet rather defiant obedience, as he opened the door.
His mother's face, curiously triangular in outline, like a cat's, with great hollow black eyes between thin parted curtains of black false hair, confronted him when he entered the room.

She always sat face to the door and window, and not a soul who passed or entered escaped her for a minute.

"What have you been doing in the pasture ?" said she.
"Sittin'." "Sittin' ?" "I've been sitting on the warm side of the big rock a little while," said Jerome.