Besides, the gloom of the everlasting snow is too painful.

It makes me think of your poor mistaken father, who is probably shovelling it in Siberia.

Here, at all events, one can avoid the window--one need not look at it." "The policy of shutting one's eyes is a mistake," said Catrina.
She had risen, and was standing by the window, her stunted form being framed, as it were, in a rosy glow of pink.
The countess heaved a little sigh and gazed idly at the fire.

She did not understand Catrina.

She was afraid of her.