Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest. 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. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style.
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