There will be no more children in this house, not ever! And if anyone ever tries bringing children into our house again, I shall kill the lot of 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. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. “Do come and cheer me up. You're welcome to it. " "No more of this," interrupted Thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses.
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