” “Tut!” he said, fuming, and put out his hand to the papers in the pink tape. 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. “Very likely,” he answered. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink.
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