‘Don’t lose your temper again. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. 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. “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major.
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