And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. What she actually wanted was the present state of affairs to continue indefinitely. ‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’ ‘Ah. 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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