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. After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. Before her was a great Gothic portal.
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