"No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. ” Annabel looked at her with terrified eyes. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. 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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