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. I shall never come back. “My dad is into this stuff. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 12-09-2024 06:07:49
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