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. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. I don’t! Please enlighten me. "I'm dumb.
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