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. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. Believe me, it will be better by far that you should consent to marry me.
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