"But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. Lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to Lady Trafford. . " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. Earles strode into the waiting-room. 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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