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. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. " "It's no use going to bed," answered Rachel.
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