She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. 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. Shari was snoring, the pill having worked its magic.
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