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. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. White, my landlady, believes his story. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s.
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