A hissing arose as
the heated water ran from the tap he had turned. He emptied the water
from the generator; the tail light sank and went out.
"No one will run into her," he remarked. "No one will pass."
Aie--screamed the wind and created a pillar of white powder. Fanny,
losing her balance, one foot sank on the edge of a rut, and she went
down on her hands; to the knees her silk-clad legs met the cold bite
of the snow.
"You must come back with me," shouted Alfred in her ear.
That seemed true and necessary; she could not reach the river; she could
not stay where she was. She followed him. At the next ditch he put out
his hand and helped her across. They had no lamp. By the light of the
snow she watched his blue-clad legs as they sank and rose; her own
sinking and rising in the holes he left for her, the buffets of wind
un-steadying her at every step. She followed him. And because she was as
green as a green bough which bursts into leaf around a wound, the
disturbing, the exciting menace of her discovery brightened her heart,
set her mind whirling, and overgrew her dejection.
They gained the Chantilly wall, and experienced at once its protection.
The howling wind passed overhead and left them in a lew; the dancing
snowflakes steadied and dropped more like rain upon them; she moved up
abreast of Alfred.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189