Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. 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. 127 “But Mary Lucia, it isn’t what it looks like! She’s an old friend, there’s nothing serious going on!” Without a word, she about-faced and flew down his steps, running fast, jumping four steps at a time. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage.
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