" CHAPTER XIX. 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. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. It was a huge stone placed there by some workmen occupied in repairing the structure. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley.
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