She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. 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. "The Captain's in such a desperate hurry, that there's no time for love-making.
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