She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. . 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. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. I should require you to accept no employment whatever upon the stage, and to remain out of England.
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