The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. Loose the wherry, and stand to your oars—quick—quick!" These commands were promptly obeyed. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel.
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