Selfishness. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. 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. “You’ll be there, right?” She asked, hearing his breathing audibly jump. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. ‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald.
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