Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America. This child at once alarmed and thrilled them. I will return to Manchester at once. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains.
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