We had no idea. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. 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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