But also this must not go on. “It’s not. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. 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. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house.
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