She had looked forward to an explanation. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. 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. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly.
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