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Lovely, serene, she smiled on all through the long summer's day; only once or twice from her snowy sides would rise a white puff of smoke, showing where some avalanche had swept the sure-footed ibex to destruction. But with the setting sun a rosy radiance fell over the whole world. Then Gwashbrari's pale face flushed into life, her chill beauty glowed into passion.
The setting sun sank lower, reflecting a ruddier glow on Gwashbrari's face; it seemed as if she blushed beneath the great King's gaze. A mighty longing filled his soul, bursting from his lips in one passionate cry 'O Gwashbrari! kiss me, or I die! The sound echoed through the valleys, while the startled peaks stood round expectant.
Slowly, surely, as one under a charm, the monarch of the mountains stooped-nearer and nearer to her radiant beauty, forgetful of all else in earth or sky. The sun set. The rosy blush faded from Gwashbrari's fair false face, leaving it cold as ice, pitiless as death. The stars began to gleam in the pale heavens, but the King lay at Gwashbrari's feet, discrowned for ever!
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