” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. 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.
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