Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. 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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