“Number 13, please, cabman. 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. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. And I want you for myself—for my wife.
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