He placed his chin upon the top of her head. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Only the major won’t have it, and we’ve to bide by what the major says. 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.
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