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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. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. . “Everybody seems to have it now. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. “I am going to America.
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