Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. 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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