Rebecca's Daughters [antikvár]

jFieavy rain in a wild wind. And winter dusk. Nothing but the torn and blowing sheets of rain, and the wind ripping and wailing. Then, through the rain and wind, the clopping of horses' hooves and the rattle of wheels, and a closed chaise dashes past us into the wild dusk. Close, we see it as a great rattling blur in the rain and wind; then it is gone. Now we see it, through the rain, approaching us down a narrow, pooled and rutted country road, bare trees each side of it, tossing in a temper. Blown broken branches scrabble and scrape the wood-work and windows as the chaise lurches on, the horses streaming and breathing out clouds in the dusky gusty cold. Up spurt the waves of mud.