1 The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.
2 "They're such beautiful shirts," she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds.
3 "We haven't met for many years," said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.
4 As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
5 The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said.
6 When the melody rose, her voice broke up sweetly, following it, in a way contralto voices have, and each change tipped out a little of her warm human magic upon the air.
7 Usually her voice came over the wire as something fresh and cool as if a divot from a green golf links had come sailing in at the office window but this morning it seemed harsh and dry.
8 For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened--then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
9 She had caught a cold and it made her voice huskier and more charming than ever and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothes and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hot struggles of the poor.
10 Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth--but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.