167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. 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. “You can keep him at arm’s length. She is English! I am sure of that. I mentioned sixty, I believe, when I was in Paris, but there are expenses, and just now business is bad.
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