It would be an understatement to say that they were both clearly very upset. They were muffled by the vertical distance to my partially open window, but at the same time, the two voices were clear, strained and cacophonously metal on metal.
Hers was explosive, enraged and incessant. She didn't stop. I needed to catch my breath just listening to her go. I was convinced she wasn't breathing while she was railing on and on. It was as if she had a special physiological mechanism that could osmose oxygen through her skin and carry it directly to her arteries.
His was trying to calm her down and stop her from... doing something he didn't want her to do. I wasn't sure what. His voice marked her long ceaseless string of verbality, like a metronome to Flight of the Bumblebee, with different intonations of her name that expressed the gamut of connotation, from desparately attempted appeasement to anger at both her belligerent accusations and his own inability to get through to her.
Ah, apartment living...