“It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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