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. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. . ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand.
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