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. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. She removed it. “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. “Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor.
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