” She implored him. This was what he missed. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. 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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