” He rose from his chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. 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. Wood resounded from below. Never had her father explained. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. It was so easy to forget the imminent threats of being discovered during times of peace. Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. Those were dreams. “We’ll go together. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience.
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