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. His tone was kind and sympathetic. She said there was no other way to get them to stop their constant screaming. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise.
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