“It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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