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. The sound of her flying feet brought Gerald leaping for the door. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again.
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