” Sir John smiled. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. 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. “Your coffee’s too good to refuse. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. “Kindly explain it to me. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony.
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