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. As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. By the thief-taker's command, the boat was then rowed toward a muddy inlet, which has received in more recent times the name of Execution Dock. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod.
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