“Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. "The doctor said something about that. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. I spoke a thought aloud. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. "But it won't do. 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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