Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. It’s not you—not a bit. ‘Else she would not have married that ne’er-do-well only because Jarvis proposed him to her. But the five per cent. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-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. He knows everything. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone.
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