was not
the steely, polished, murderous air of the last few days. Somebody
passing over the snow below slipped along with a peculiar soaking
soddened sound.
Fisher craned his head out of the window. Something moist fell on the
nape of his neck. He yelled for Gough almost hysterically. Gough also
was devoid of his overcoat.
"I thought it was fancy," he said unsteadily.
Fisher answered nothing. The strain was released, he breathed freely.
And outside the whole, white, silent world was dripping, dripping,
dripping---
THE END
2 RTEXT
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