Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. 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. She was extremely showily dressed, and her large hooped petticoat gave additional effect to her lofty stature. The old lady’s face was stiff with anger.
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