What a beautiful description of listening out for someone’s voice. Despite Adam’s listening for her voice so, it doesn’t yet occur to him that he might fall in love with her.
And voices, how memorable, individual and yet evanescent they are! When you remember the voice of someone you’ve lost, you can almost remember it, or hear it, but then it slips away again, and you realize that perhaps what you remember is their way of speaking, their accent and inflection, rather than the voice itself. One of the hardest things for memory to recreate.
‘… to listen for her voice as for a recurrent music.’
Source: George Eliot, Adam Bede (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985 (1859)), p. 533
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