Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. He seemed to be trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words.
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