"I've waited supper, you perceive. You were very good. You love money. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. I don’t know. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. 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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