’ The smile vanished. 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 turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. I found a blue stone on the beach once. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands.
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