’ ‘Don’t count on it. ” “I sent a telegram to say I was all right. 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 vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified.
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