The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She was by his side. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. He must have married when he was quite a young man. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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