Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. 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.
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