11.She could hear the frequent shuffling and tossing of the horses tied to the pickets; and in the other direction the miles-long voice of the sea, whispering a louder note at those points of its length where hampered in its ebb and flow by some jutting promontory or group of boulders. Louder sounds suddenly broke this approach to silence; they came from the camp of dragoons, were taken further to the right by the camp of the Hanoverians, and further on still by the body of infantry. It was tattoo.
T. Hardy, The Trumpet-Major, Macmillan, London, 1962, p. 17, chap. 2.
PLACE: Dorset
TIME: ca. 1800
12.Every time that he poked his fire they knew from the vehemence or deliberateness of the blows the precise state of his mind; and when he wound his clock on Sunday nights the whirr of that monitor reminded the widow to wind hers. This transit of noises was most perfect where Loveday's lobby adjoined Mrs Garland's pantry; and Anne, who was occupied for some time in the latier apartment, enjoyed the privilege of hearing the visitors arrive and of catching stray sounds and words without the connecting phrases that made them entertaining, to judge from the laughter they evoked.
T. Hardy, The Trumpet-Major, MacMillan, London, 1962, p. 23, chap. 3.
PLACE: Dorset
TIME: ca. 1800
13.She lived with her widowed mother in a portion of an ancient building formerly a manor-house, but now a mill, which, being too large for his own requirements the miller found it convenient to divide and appropriate in part to these highly respectable tenants. In this dwelling Mrs. Garland's and Anne's ears were soothed morning, noon, and night by the music of the mill, the wheels and cogs of which, being of wood, produced notes that might have borne in their minds a remote resemblance to the wooden tones of the stopped diapason in an organ. Occasionally, when the miller was bolting, there was added to these continuous sounds the cheerful clicking of the hopper, which did not deprive them of rest except when it was kept going all night; and over and above all this they had the pleasure of knowing that there crept in through every crevice, door, and window of their dwelling, however tightly closed, a subtle mist of superfine flour....
T. Hardy, The Trumpet-Major, MacMillan, London, 1962, p. 2, chap. 1.
PLACE: Dorset
TIME: ca. 1800
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