“My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. 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 silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips.
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