The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. 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. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. It drives one mad at times.
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