“Shhh. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. “We don’t pretend. ‘The nuns, they teach prayer and obedience. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. The boy was coming around. 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. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form.
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