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. Look at it, I say. Ennison looked down on him in disgust. Melusine came back to the present to discover that tears were rolling down her cheeks.
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