Salka Valka by Halldor Laxness

A man's voice?

Was it not a strange coincidence that it was now winter again, and that a thaw should in fact be setting in when this voice was heard again, while hammer blows rang out from down at the shore? Little pictures that have been kept are nothing in comparison with that forgotten voice, carrying with it the storms of childhood. And here stood the girl, like a house that vibrates to a song, the song in which the reality of the days sinks to its source in the timelessness of fulfillment. It was as if now, there was nothing more to be expected: thus did this voice echo in her heartbeats. And light-brown eyes looked around, heavy with a glow not of the world of reason, much less of the world of letters, and which cannot be put into writing any more than the color of one's dreams.