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. “Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. The unexpected twist—his disclosure to McClintock—had given Spurlock but temporary relief.
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