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. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. She did not have the power of men. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her.
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