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. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. “So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. “The women are taking it up,” said Miss Miniver; “the women and the common people, all pressing forward, all roused.
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