She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. 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. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile. White’s,” she said, “and if he is going to persist in this delusion, we cannot both remain here. But one of these days everything will click back into place.
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