She rose to the fire to stoke it. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words.
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