In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. 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. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her.
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