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. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. Does it?” “I think it does. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter.
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