He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. ‘Certainly no one will find it. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. Her back stiffened. 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. ‘Alors, I see it.
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