Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. She was reasonably certain why. “Listen,” she said. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. 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. E. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French.
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