The tables were then cleared. Also from the capital came news of grave fears for the safety of the royal family, who had moved there from Versailles. “Can we watch television?” She asked. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot.
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