“Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. 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. “It was my sister Anna. You women, with your tricks of evasion, you’re a sex of swindlers. ’ Too late he saw his error.
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