She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. 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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