Lost ground must be regained. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. 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. That could signify nothing except that the doctor had a friend down there somewhere, on an island in one of those archipelagoes. “No, no, no. The Palazzo was unlike anything she had ever known. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing.
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