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. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. "Do you know this picture?" he added, with another significant look, and pointing to the miniature.
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