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. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression.
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