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. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man.
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