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. "How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. ” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed.
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