" "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. 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. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go.
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