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. Just by walking in you can tell if it is a good house or a bad house. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me. She found she could do her microscope work all the better for being in love.
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