She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment? ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman. I was at work at it yesterday and the day before. 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. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off.
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