“I mean it. 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. I'm sure he'll do his best to content you. "That gown is getting shabby. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him.
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