. . When she tried to speak she found it difficult. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. 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. ‘Ah, well, we’ll check the back and then go home.
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