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. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. "No, I won't leave go!" screamed Mrs. Take your half loaf with the others.
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