“I wonder what happened. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. 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’s—it’s a social difference. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor.
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