“Did I do something wrong?” He asked. 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. The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes.
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