"Mr. I wish they would just get it over with. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. 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. “Well, I do.
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