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One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. 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. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII.
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