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. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder.
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