"Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. 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. They've paid for their lodging. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. . Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone.
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