" "I must now go and look after Thames," observed the carpenter. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all. 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 can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. E. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas.
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