Her patience was waning fast. ’ Gerald eyed her. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. 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.
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