D. “In five minutes I shall be ready. 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. I don’t idealize you. Each time that we meet I try to kill you. “Women are mocked,” she said. Recollect that. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. ’ A giggle answered him.
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