Mrs. Lucy stood in front of the piano. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. 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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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 19-06-2024 18:09:02
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