One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. " "Help! help!" shrieked Mrs. ” The lights were lowered, and an attentive waiter hovered round Anna’s cloak. 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. In all other respects they differed as materially.
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