The Palazzo was unlike anything she had ever known. 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. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. You have betrayed me. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died.
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