. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. But you must see her alone; and that'll be no easy matter to manage, for she's a great invalid, and has generally somebody with her. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. 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. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. She lay very still and closed her eyes, hear tears gliding off of her ears, causing them to itch. Finally she fell into reflection. . Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments.
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