Дэвид Копперфильд

Tempest

           

           Itwasamurkyconfusionhereandthereblottedwithacolourlikethecolourofthesmokefromdampfuelofflyingclouds,tossedupintomostremarkableheaps,suggestinggreaterheightsinthecloudsthanthereweredepthsbelowthemtothebottomofthedeepesthollowsintheearth,throughwhichthewildmoonseemedtoplungeheadlong,asif,inadreaddisturbanceofthelawsofnature,shehadlostherwayandwerefrightened.Therehadbeenawindallday;anditwasrisingthen,withanextraordinarygreatsound.Inanotherhourithadmuchincreased,andtheskywasmoreovercast,andblewhard.

           But,asthenightadvanced,thecloudsclosinginanddenselyover-spreadingthewholesky,thenverydark,itcameontoblow,harderandharder.Itstillincreased,untilourhorsescouldscarcelyfacethewind.Manytimes,inthedarkpartofthenight(itwasthenlateinSeptember,whenthenightswerenotshort),theleadersturnedabout,orcametoadeadstop;andwewereofteninseriousapprehensionthatthecoachwouldbeblownover.Sweepinggustsofraincameupbeforethisstorm,likeshowersofsteel;and,atthosetimes,whentherewasanyshelteroftreesorleewallstobegot,wewerefaintostop,inasheerimpossibilityofcontinuingthestruggle.

           Whenthedaybroke,itblewharderandharder.IhadbeeninYarmouthwhentheseamensaiditblewgreatguns,butIhadneverknownthelikeofthis,oranythingapproachingtoit.

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