The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. 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 dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. “I am going to ignore it. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. ‘You see, I had another reason for visiting your grandfather. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable.
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