" The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. 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. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. Sheppard: "nothing can save me. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart.
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