She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. “No. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks.
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