“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. 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. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. But here she met with a check. Detention was merry for the other detainees. “Read this, John. “I mean to,” she replied.
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