" "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. 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. “I must confess,” he said, “the New Woman and the New Girl intrigue me profoundly.
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