Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. The flight. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. 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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