I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite. 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. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream.
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