Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. God must love me, for he has guided me here. 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.
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