It was painful to want him so much. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. 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. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM4LjE1Ny4xMDUgLSAwMS0wNi0yMDI0IDIzOjMwOjQ4IC0gMTUzMTAwNTY4Mg==
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