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Book, page 90 / 145 "Oh wildly wild the winter-blast Is whirling round the snow; The wintry storms are up at last, And care not how they go. In wreaths and mists, the frozen white Is torn into the air; It pictures, in the dreary light, An ocean in despair. Come, darkness! rouse the fancy more; Storm! wake the silent sea; Till, roaring in the tempest-roar, It rave to ecstasy; And death-like figures, long and white, Sweep through the driving spray; And, fading in the ghastly night, Cry faintly far away." I saw Adela shudder. Presently she asked her papa whether it was not time to go home. Mrs. Armstrong proposed that she should stay all night; but she evidently wished to go. It would be rather perilous work to drive down the hill with the wind behind, in such a night, but a servant was sent to hasten the carriage notwithstanding. The colonel and Percy and I ran along side of it, ready to render any assistance that might be necessary; and, although we all said we had never been out in such an uproar of the elements, we reached home in safety. As Adela bade us good night in the hall, I certainly felt very uneasy as to the effects of the night's adventures upon her--she looked so pale and wretched. She did not come down to breakfast. But she appeared at lunch, nothing the worse, and in very good spirits. If I did not think that this had something to do with another fact I have come to the knowledge of since, I don't know that the particulars
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