"He was thrown overboard, and perished at sea. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. But you——” Something seemed to catch his breath. 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. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up.
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