But in that reservation it may be she went a little beyond the converse of his view. 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. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. " "Horror!" cried Jack.
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