The January wind came up with a sharp, dreary sough into the defiles of the hills, crusting over the snow-sweeps with a glaze of ice that glittered in the pearly sunlight, clear up the rugged peaks.

With abatement of breath I listened, but heard nothing except the mournful sough of the pines.

The January wind came up with a sharp, dreary sough into the defiles of the hills, crusting over the snow-sweeps with a glaze of ice that glittered in the pearly sunlight, clear up the rugged peaks.

And as he did so, I heard the steady sough of talk among the people rise mutteringly in a low growl of anger and contempt.