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. “Then I don’t take this as final. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question.
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