The mighty concourse became for a moment still. Lee-o-no-ra. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. 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. "But this need give you no uneasiness," pursued Jonathan; "Mrs.
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