Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. “Thank you, ma’am. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval.
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