For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. I find it impossible to associate you with—my little friend of the ‘Ambassador’s. "The key," replied the widow.
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