Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared. She was consumed by misery and hate. She has been a dear. 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.
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