" "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. 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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