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. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. Also he is ugly.
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