" "But you can imagine it. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence. 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. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly.
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