Still, it was true about men. “No!” he said aloud at last. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. 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.
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