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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. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. Until she had left her island, what she heard and what she saw were truths.
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