The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. 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. I can't keep a good man beyond three pay-days. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats.
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