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. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. I don’t mind it. “They died within a few months of one another. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. "I need not ask whether this is Mr. Give me your staff. “It’s jolly of you to come,” said Ramage.
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