Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. You will be with me. And Capes had changed into the easiest and jolliest companion in the world. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. They did not spend most days together.
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