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. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together.
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