It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. 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.
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