Somewhere, a tree, uprooted, crashed and fell to the ground—and the sound, out of the great swelter of discordant sounds, was like the snapping of a little twig.
Hands clasping where they might, clinging with all her strength to hold herself in her seat, Anne sat white-faced, and, save for the vicious slew and lurch of the car, immovable.
She could scarcely see beyond the hood of the car. The whole world seemed to have turned into a weird, ugly, dark-brown coloured dusk. Driven with terrific force by the wind, the rain came in deluge after deluge. The flooring of the car at moments was awash with it; it was as though water in illimitable volume were being hurled and hurled against the windshield.
Rocking, careening, the car raced on down the mountain side; and the road, cut through the
