Sheppard. She would have been amazed if John was even aware of any one of the incidents. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. 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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