” “Gwen said she was happy. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. 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. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. F.
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