And the woollen-draper departed. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. It came again. 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. Two hours had come and gone during this tantalizing occupation.
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