She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. 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. "You thank Heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted.
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