“Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. 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. His tone was kind and sympathetic. It must be somewhere hereabouts.
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