“What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. Wood rushed instantly to meet them. 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. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes.
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