Pagina 3 de 896

There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed

in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest

and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its

slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and

overspread one another, as the waves of an unwholesome sea might

do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of

the coach-lamps but these its own workings, and a few yards of

road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if

they had made it all.