Even though I did find exactly what I had been looking for all that time in the dark,
a large rock, I did not want to find it with the back of my head. White spurts
entered my field of vision, not from lightning, from the immense blow to the back
of my ...
Author: Spencer Mooney
Publisher: Xlibris Corporation
Fire on the Horizon is a suspenseful view of life during the final days of existence. The main character Rizon no more than reaches consciousness when tragedy is bestowed upon him by his wife Fallon dissipating into nonexistence, right before his wondering eyes. During his frantic search he is forced to evacuate his home, do to plague driven havoc, embarking on a journey to find his brother Lexter, in hopes of restoring moral and sanity to their rightful place. Only, in his search he finds much more. Dreams and visions periodically placed in the catacombs of Rizons mind chronologically surface and materialize, revealing a prophecy leading him to make a life altering choice. Ultimately unveiling a truth regarding life as it is known.
23Lot reached the village just as the sun was rising over the horizon. 24Then the
Lord rained down fire and burning sulfur from the sky on Sodom and Gomorrah.
25He utterly destroyed them, along with the other cities and villages of the plain,
Trusted & Treasured by Millions of Readers over 30 years, the Life Application(R) Study Bible Is Today's #1-Selling Study Bible, and a Bible for All Times. Now it has been thoroughly updated and expanded, offering even more relevant insights for understanding and applying God's Word to everyday life in today's world. Discover How You Can Apply the Bible to Your Life Today Now with a fresh two-color interior design and meaningfully updated study notes and features, this Bible will help you understand God's Word better than ever. It answers questions that you may have about the text and provides you practical yet powerful ways to apply the Bible to your life every day. Study the stories and teachings of the Bible with verse-by-verse commentary. Gain wisdom from people in the Bible by exploring their accomplishments and learning from their mistakes. Survey the big picture of each book through overviews, vital statistics, outlines, and timelines, and grasp difficult concepts using in-text maps, charts, and diagrams--all to help you do life God's way, every day. The Large Print editions are for people who enjoy the enhanced readability of larger text. Features: (Enhanced, updated, and with new content added throughout) Now more than 10,000 Life Application(R) notes and features Over 100 Life Application(R) profiles of key Bible people Introductions and overviews for each book of the Bible More than 500 maps & charts placed for quick reference Dictionary/concordance Extensive side-column cross-reference system to facilitate deeper study Life Application(R) index to notes, charts, maps, and profiles Refreshed design with a second color for visual clarity 16 pages of full-color maps Quality Smyth-sewn binding--durable, made for frequent use, and lays flat when open Presentation page Single-column format Christian Worker's Resource, a special supplement to enhance the reader's ministry effectiveness Full text of the Holy Bible, New Living Translation (NLT), combining the latest biblical scholarship with clear, natural English The words of Jesus are in red letter.
The continuing story demonstrates conclusively that the Lord, not Baal, has
control over fire, water, and the weather. 18:41-45 The servant . . . saw a little
cloud on the horizon that appeared to be the size of a hand. Yet it heralded the
Make Your Study Personal and Your Devotions Serious. You study the Bible to connect with God's heart. The NLT Study Bible gives you the tools you need to enter the world of the Bible so you can do just that. Including over 25,000 study notes plus profiles, charts, maps, timelines, book and section introductions, and approximately 300 theme notes, the NLT Study Bible will make your study personal and your devotions serious. This new large print edition features a generous 10-point font. The New Living Translation breathes life into even the most difficult-to-understand Bible passages, changing lives as the words speak directly to their hearts.
Author: CSB Bibles by HolmanPublish On: 2017-03-15
Don't follow or run Persistent Widow 24 flashes from horizon to horizon and lights
up the sky , so the Son of always and ... 29 But on the day Lot left not God grant
justice to his elect Sodom , fire and sulfur rained from who cry out to him day and
Author: CSB Bibles by Holman
Publisher: Holman Bible Publishers
The CSB Large Print Personal Size Reference Bible features large, easy-to-read 11.25-point type in a convenient trim size that is perfect for devotional reading, personal study, or use at church. The giant-print type also makes this Bible an ideal choice for ministry and preaching. Features include: Smyth-sewn binding, presentation page, two-column text, end-of-paragraph cross-references, topical subheadings, Words of Christ in red, 11.25-point type, concordance, and full-color maps. The CSB Large Print Personal Size Reference Bible features the highly readable, highly reliable text of the Christian Standard Bible (CSB). The CSB stays as literal as possible to the Bible's original meaning without sacrificing clarity, making it easier to engage with Scripture's life-transforming message and to share it with others.
Don't follow or run after them.u 24 For as the lightning flashes from horizon to horizon and lights up the sky, so the Son of ... buying, selling, planting, building.
29 But on the day Lotleft Sodom, fire and sulfur rained from heaven and
Author: CSB Bibles by Holman
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
With an easy to read, 10 point font size the CSB Study Bible, Large Print Edition offers the award-winning Holman study system, which includes over 15,000 study notes, tools, word studies, and articles from respected Bible scholars.
Above, the sky seemed one vast arc of solemn blue, set here and there with points of tremulous fire; below, to the shadowy horizon, stretched the plain of the soft grey sea, while from the fragrances of night and earth floated a breath of ...
Author: Henry Rider Haggard
Above, the sky seemed one vast arc of solemn blue, set here and there with points of tremulous fire; below, to the shadowy horizon, stretched the plain of the soft grey sea, while from the fragrances of night and earth floated a breath of sleep and flowers. A man leaned on the low wall that bordered the cliff edge, and looked at sea beneath and sky above. Then he contemplated the horizon, and murmured some line heard or learnt in childhood, ending "where earth and heaven meet." "But they only seem to meet," he reflected to himself, idly. "If I sailed to that spot they would be as wide apart as ever. Yes, the stars would be as silent and as far away, and the sea quite as restless and as salt.
For a second , she saw herself working here all summer , stoking the fire ,
actually baking the ribs , enjoying Nick ' s attention . Enjoying Nick ' s attention ?
Clearly her good sense had run off into the horizon , probably with her righteous
Author: Susan May Warren
Category: Family secrets
Nick Noble hadn't planned on being the prodigal son, but when his father dies and leaves half of the Noble family ranch to Nick's former best friend, he must return home to face his mistakes and guarantee that the Silver Buckle stays in the Noble family.
The burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest point in the horizon, when aknight of the Red Cross, who had left his distant northern home and joined the host of theCrusaders in Palestine, was pacing slowly along the sandy ...
Author: Walter Scott
The burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest point in the horizon, when aknight of the Red Cross, who had left his distant northern home and joined the host of theCrusaders in Palestine, was pacing slowly along the sandy deserts which lie in the vicinityof the Dead Sea, or, as it is called, the Lake Asphaltites, where the waves of the Jordan pourthemselves into an inland sea, from which there is no discharge of waters.The warlike pilgrim had toiled among cliffs and precipices during the earlier part of themorning. More lately, issuing from those rocky and dangerous defiles, he had entered uponthat great plain, where the accursed cities provoked, in ancient days, the direct anddreadful vengeance of the Omnipotent.The toil, the thirst, the dangers of the way, were forgotten, as the traveller recalled thefearful catastrophe which had converted into an arid and dismal wilderness the fair andfertile valley of Siddim, once well watered, even as the Garden of the Lord, now a parchedand blighted waste, condemned to eternal sterility.Crossing himself, as he viewed the dark mass of rolling waters, in colour as in dualityunlike those of any other lake, the traveller shuddered as he remembered that beneaththese sluggish waves lay the once proud cities of the plain, whose grave was dug by thethunder of the heavens, or the eruption of subterraneous fire, and whose remains were hid, even by that sea which holds no living fish in its bosom, bears no skiff on its surface, and, asif its own dreadful bed were the only fit receptacle for its sullen waters, sends not, likeother lakes, a tribute to the ocean. The whole land around, as in the days of Moses, was"brimstone and sa
Stanbury Hill, remote but two hours' walk from a region blasted with mine and factory and furnace, shelters with its western slope a fair green valley, a land of meadows and orchard, untouched by poisonous breath.
Author: George Gissing
Stanbury Hill, remote but two hours' walk from a region blasted with mine and factory and furnace, shelters with its western slope a fair green valley, a land of meadows and orchard, untouched by poisonous breath. At its foot lies the village of Wanley. The opposite side of the hollow is clad with native wood, skirting for more than a mile the bank of a shallow stream, a tributary of the Severn. Wanley consists in the main of one long street; the houses are stone-built, with mullioned windows, here and there showing a picturesque gable or a quaint old chimney. The oldest buildings are four cottages which stand at the end of the street; once upon a time they formed the country residence of the abbots of Belwick. The abbey of that name still claims for its ruined self a portion of earth's surface; but, as it had the misfortune to be erected above the thickest coal-seam in England, its walls are blackened with the fume of collieries and shaken by the strain of mighty engines. Climb Stanbury Hill at nightfall, and, looking eastward, you behold far off a dusky ruddiness in the sky, like the last of an angry sunset; with a glass you can catch glimpses of little tongues of flame, leaping and quivering on the horizon. That is Belwick. The good abbots, who were wont to come out in the summer time to Wanley, would be at a loss to recognise their consecrated home in those sooty relics. Belwick, with its hundred and fifty fire-vomiting blast-furnaces, would to their eyes more nearly resemble a certain igneous realm of which they thought much in their sojourn upon earth, and which, we may assure ourselves, they dream not of in the quietness of their last long sleep.A large house, which stands aloof from the village and a little above it, is Wanley Manor. The county history tells us that Wanley was given in the fifteenth century to that same religious foundation, and that at the dissolution of monasteries the Manor passed into the hands of Queen Catherine. The house is half-timbered; from the height above it looks old and peaceful amid its immemorial trees. Towards the end of the eighteenth century it became the home of a family named Eldon, the estate including the greater part of the valley below. But an Eldon who came into possession when William IV. was King brought the fortunes of his house to a low ebb, and his son, seeking to improve matters by abandoning his prejudices and entering upon commercial speculation, in the end left a widow and two boys with little more to live upon than the income which arose from Mrs. Eldon's settlements. The Manor was shortly after this purchased by a Mr. Mutimer, a Belwick ironmaster; but Mrs. Eldon and her boys still inhabited the house, in consequence of certain events which will shortly be narrated. Wanley would have mourned their departure; they were the aristocracy of the neighbourhood, and to have them ousted by a name which no one knew, a name connected only with blast-furnaces, would have made a distinct fall in the tone of Wanley society. Fortunately no changes were made in the structure by its new owner. Not far from it you see the church and the vicarage, these also unmolested in their quiet age. Wanley, it is to be feared, lags far behind the times-painfully so, when one knows for a certainty that the valley upon which it looks conceals treasures of coal, of ironstone-blackband, to be technical-and of fireclay. Some ten years ago it seemed as if better things were in store; there was a chance that the vale might for ever cast off its foolish greenery, and begin vomiting smoke and flames in humble imitation of its metropolis beyond the hills. There are men in Belwick who have an angry feeling whenever Wanley is mentioned to them.
Author: E Phillips OppenheimPublish On: 2020-04-09
Below them, what seemed to be the phantasm of a painted city, a wilderness of housetops, of smoke-wreathed spires and chimneys, stretched away to a murky, blood-red horizon.
Author: E Phillips Oppenheim
Below them, what seemed to be the phantasm of a painted city, a wilderness of housetops, of smoke-wreathed spires and chimneys, stretched away to a murky, blood-red horizon. Even as they stood there, a deeper color stained the sky, an angry sun began to sink into the piled up masses of thick, vaporous clouds. The girl watched with an air of sullen yet absorbed interest. Her companion's eyes were still fixed wholly and critically upon her. Who was she, he wondered? Why had she left her own country to come to a city where she seemed to have no friends, no manner of interest? In that caravansary of the world's stricken ones she had been an almost unnoticed figure, silent, indisposed for conversation, not in any obvious manner attractive. Her clothes, notwithstanding their air of having come from a first-class dressmaker, were shabby and out of fashion, their extreme neatness in itself pathetic. She was thin, yet not without a certain buoyant lightness of movement always at variance with her tired eyes, her ceaseless air of dejection. And withal she was a rebel. It was written in her attitude, it was evident in her lowering, militant expression, the smouldering fire in her eyes proclaimed it. Her long, rather narrow face was gripped between her hands; her elbows rested upon the brick parapet. She gazed at that world of blood-red mists, of unshapely, grotesque buildings, of strange, tawdry colors; she listened to the medley of sounds-crude, shrill, insistent, something like the groaning of a world stripped naked-and she had all the time the air of one who hates the thing she looks upon.
On a memorable morning of early December London opened its eyes on a frigid gray mist.
Author: Israel Zangwill
On a memorable morning of early December London opened its eyes on a frigid gray mist. There are mornings when King Fog masses his molecules of carbon in serried squadrons in the city, while he scatters them tenuously in the suburbs; so that your morning train may bear you from twilight to darkness. But to-day the enemy's maneuvering was more monotonous. From Bow even unto Hammersmith there draggled a dull, wretched vapor, like the wraith of an impecunious suicide come into a fortune immediately after the fatal deed. The barometers and thermometers had sympathetically shared its depression, and their spirits (when they had any) were low. The cold cut like a many-bladed knife.Mrs. Drabdump, of 11 Glover Street, Bow, was one of the few persons in London whom fog did not depress. She went about her work quite as cheerlessly as usual. She had been among the earliest to be aware of the enemy's advent, picking out the strands of fog from the coils of darkness the moment she rolled up her bedroom blind and unveiled the somber picture of the winter morning. She knew that the fog had come to stay for the day at least, and that the gas bill for the quarter was going to beat the record in high-jumping. She also knew that this was because she had allowed her new gentleman lodger, Mr. Arthur Constant, to pay a fixed sum of a shilling a week for gas, instead of charging him a proportion of the actual account for the whole house. The meteorologists might have saved the credit of their science if they had reckoned with Mrs. Drabdump's next gas bill when they predicted the weather and made "Snow" the favorite, and said that "Fog" would be nowhere. Fog was everywhere, yet Mrs. Drabdump took no credit to herself for her prescience. Mrs. Drabdump indeed took no credit for anything, paying her way along doggedly, and struggling through life like a wearied swimmer trying to touch the horizon. That things always went as badly as she had foreseen did not exhilarate her in the least.Mrs. Drabdump was a widow. Widows are not born, but made, else you might have fancied Mrs. Drabdump had always been a widow. Nature had given her that tall, spare form, and that pale, thin-lipped, elongated, hard-eyed visage, and that painfully precise hair, which are always associated with widowhood in low life. It is only in higher circles that women can lose their husbands and yet remain bewitching. The late Mr. Drabdump had scratched the base of his thumb with a rusty nail, and Mrs. Drabdump's foreboding that he would die of lockjaw had not prevented her wrestling day and night with the shadow of Death, as she had wrestled with it vainly twice before, when Katie died of diphtheria and little Johnny of scarlet fever. Perhaps it is from overwork among the poor that Death has been reduced to a shadow.Mrs. Drabdump was lighting the kitchen fire. She did it very scientifically, as knowing the contrariety of coal and the anxiety of flaming sticks to end in smoke unless rigidly kept up to the mark. Science was a success as usual; and Mrs. Drabdump rose from her knees content, like a Parsee priestess who had duly paid her morning devotions to her deity. Then she started violently, and nearly lost her balance. Her eye had caught the hands of the clock on the mantel. They pointed to fifteen minutes to seven. Mrs. Drabdump's devotion to the kitchen fire invariably terminated at fifteen minutes past six. What was the matter with the clock?
Professor Joslin, who, as our readers are doubtless aware, is engaged in writing the life of Mrs.
Author: Edith Wharton
Professor Joslin, who, as our readers are doubtless aware, is engaged in writing the life of Mrs. Aubyn, asks us to state that he will be greatly indebted to any of the famous novelist's friends who will furnish him with information concerning the period previous to her coming to England. Mrs. Aubyn had so few intimate friends, and consequently so few regular correspondents, that letters will be of special value. Professor Joslin's address is 10 Augusta Gardens, Kensington, and he begs us to say that he "will promptly return any documents entrusted to him."Glennard dropped the Spectator and sat looking into the fire. The club was filling up, but he still had to himself the small inner room, with its darkening outlook down the rain-streaked prospect of Fifth Avenue. It was all dull and dismal enough, yet a moment earlier his boredom had been perversely tinged by a sense of resentment at the thought that, as things were going, he might in time have to surrender even the despised privilege of boring himself within those particular four walls. It was not that he cared much for the club, but that the remote contingency of having to give it up stood to him, just then, perhaps by very reason of its insignificance and remoteness, for the symbol of his increasing abnegations; of that perpetual paring-off that was gradually reducing existence to the naked business of keeping himself alive. It was the futility of his multiplied shifts and privations that made them seem unworthy of a high attitude; the sense that, however rapidly he eliminated the superfluous, his cleared horizon was likely to offer no nearer view of the one prospect toward which he strained. To give up things in order to marry the woman one loves is easier than to give them up without being brought appreciably nearer to such a conclusion.
A-Len and Lady returned tot he fire side after the rapacious rats had finally
broken off with their attack. They had both attacked the wide flanks while Miles
and Sara concentrated their attack to the center of the horde of rats. They all had
Author: John H. Whalen
Publisher: Xlibris Corporation
Beyond the Horizon is about a young man's search for himself and his purpose in life. The book takes place in the future after a nuclear holocaust was released upon the world. After the death of his mother, Jessica, Miles goes in search of his father, John, who had not returned to their village after several years. He starts out his adventure with his large dog, A-len. Miles rescues the beautiful Sara from some grotesque man-creatures. While exploring this primordial world, they have many adventures which include evil shape-shifters, witches that practice the dark arts, monster rats, and the dreaded demon beasts. As they travel on together, Sara and Miles become very close and Miles begins to have feelings that he doesn't understand. They also learn to continue to seek what is Beyond the Horizon.
Our immediate need was sustenance and shortly Witt and I were crammed onto
the 432's long bench seat, mug and sandwich in ... It was impossible to read a
compass from inside the vehicle and, with a shimmering horizon that was devoid
Author: Andrew Gillespie
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Forming part of the Royal Artillery's historical series, Desert Fire is the Battery Commander of O Battery (The Rockett Troop), 2nd Field Regiment RA's gripping description of the Gulf War. His first-hand account brings to life the power and destructive force of modern massed artillery and is a fitting tribute to all members of the Royal Regiment who played such a vital role in the desert campaign. Shows detailed plans and maps of events first time around in the Gulf.
The man looked at the book and then at the giant, and then at the book again. And in the book it said, "It can be maintained that the evil of pride consists in being out of proportion to the universe.
Author: G K Chesterton
Once upon a time there were two little boys who lived chiefly in the front garden, because their villa was a model one. The front garden was about the same size as the dinner table; it consisted of four strips of gravel, a square of turf with some mysterious pieces of cork standing up in the middle and one flower bed with a row of red daisies. One morning while they were at play in these romantic grounds, a passing individual, probably the milkman, leaned over the railing and engaged them in philosophical conversation. The boys, whom we will call Paul and Peter, were at least sharply interested in his remarks. For the milkman (who was, I need say, a fairy) did his duty in that state of life by offering them in the regulation manner anything that they chose to ask for. And Paul closed with the offer with a business-like abruptness, explaining that he had long wished to be a giant that he might stride across continents and oceans and visit Niagara or the Himalayas in an afternoon dinner stroll. The milkman producing a wand from his breast pocket, waved it in a hurried and perfunctory manner; and in an instant the model villa with its front garden was like a tiny doll's house at Paul's colossal feet. He went striding away with his head above the clouds to visit Niagara and the Himalayas. But when he came to the Himalayas, he found they were quite small and silly-looking, like the little cork rockery in the garden; and when he found Niagara it was no bigger than the tap turned on in the bathroom. He wandered round the world for several minutes trying to find something really large and finding everything small, till in sheer boredom he lay down on four or five prairies and fell asleep. Unfortunately his head was just outside the hut of an intellectual backwoodsman who came out of it at that moment with an axe in one hand and a book of Neo-Catholic Philosophy in the other. The man looked at the book and then at the giant, and then at the book again. And in the book it said, "It can be maintained that the evil of pride consists in being out of proportion to the universe." So the backwoodsman put down his book, took his axe and, working eight hours a day for about a week, cut the giant's head off; and there was an end of him.Such is the severe yet salutary history of Paul. But Peter, oddly enough, made exactly the opposite request; he said he had long wished to be a pigmy about half an inch high; and of course he immediately became one. When the transformation was over he found himself in the midst of an immense plain, covered with a tall green jungle and above which, at intervals, rose strange trees each with a head like the sun in symbolic pictures, with gigantic rays of silver and a huge heart of gold. Toward the middle of this prairie stood up a mountain of such romantic and impossible shape, yet of such stony height and dominance, that it looked like some incident of the end of the world. And far away on the faint horizon he could see the line of another forest, taller and yet more mystical, of a terrible crimson colour, like a forest on fire for ever. He set out on his adventures across that coloured plain; and he has not come to the end of it yet.
Mrs. Woodward had been left a widow three years before this story opens.
Author: Angela Brazil
Mrs. Woodward had been left a widow three years before this story opens. She was a fair, fragile little woman, still pretty, and pathetically helpless. She had been accustomed to lean upon her husband, and now, for lack of firmer support, she leaned upon Winona. Winona was young to act as prop, and though it flattered her sense of importance, it had put a row of wrinkles on her girlish forehead. At fifteen she seemed much older than Percy at sixteen. No one ever dreamt of taking Percy seriously; he was one of those jolly, easy-going, happy-go-lucky, unreliable people who saunter through life with no other aim than to amuse themselves at all costs. To depend upon him was like trusting to a boat without a bottom. Though nominally the eldest, he had little more sense of responsibility than Ernie, the youngest. It was Winona who shouldered the family burdens.The Woodwards had always lived at Highfield, and in their opinion it was the most desirable residence in the whole of Rytonshire. The house was old enough to be picturesque, but modern enough for comfort. Its quaint gables, mullioned windows and Cromwellian porch were the joy of photographers, while the old-fashioned hall, when the big log fire was lighted, would be hard to beat for coziness. The schoolroom, on the ground floor, had a separate side entrance on to the lawn, leading through a small ante-room where boots and coats and cricket bats and tennis rackets could be kept; the drawing-room had a luxurious ingle nook with cushioned seats, and all the bedrooms but two had a southern aspect. As for the big rambling garden, it was full of delightful old-world flowers that came up year after year: daffodils and violets and snow-flakes, and clumps of pinks, and orange lilies and Canterbury bells, and tall Michaelmas daisies, and ribbon grass and royal Osmunda fern, the sort of flowers that people used to pick in days gone by, put a paper frill round, and call a nosegay or a posy. There was a lawn for tennis and cricket, a pond planted with irises and bulrushes, and a wild corner where crocuses and coltsfoot and golden aconite came up as they liked in the spring time.Winona loved this garden with somewhat the same attachment that a French peasant bears for the soil upon which he has been reared. She rejoiced in every yard of it. To go away and resign it to others would be tragedy unspeakable. The fear that Aunt Harriet might recommend the family to leave Highfield was sufficient to darken her horizon indefinitely. That her mother had written to consult the oracle she was well aware, for she had been sent to post the letter. She had an instinctive apprehension that the answer would prove a turning-point in her career.For a day or two everything went on as usual. Mrs. Woodward did not again allude to her difficulties, Percy had conveniently forgotten them, and the younger children were not aware of their existence. Winona lived with a black spot dancing before her mental eyes. It was continually rising up and blotting out the sunshine. On the fourth morning appeared a letter addressed in an old-fashioned slanting handwriting, and bearing the Seaton post mark. Mrs. Woodward read it in silence, and left her toast unfinished. Aunt Harriet's communications generally upset her for the day.
The last hushed chord died into silence, but the woman lingered, dreaming over the keys.Firelight from the end of the room brought red- gold gleams into the dusky softness of herhair and shadowed her profile upon the opposite wall.
Author: Myrtle Reed
Publisher: Independently Published
The last hushed chord died into silence, but the woman lingered, dreaming over the keys.Firelight from the end of the room brought red- gold gleams into the dusky softness of herhair and shadowed her profile upon the opposite wall. No answering flash of jewels met thequestioning light-there was only a mellow glow from the necklace of tourmalines, quaintly set, that lay upon the white lace of her gown.She turned her face toward the fire as a flower seeks the sun, but her deep eyes lookedbeyond it, into the fires of Life itself. A haunting sense of unfulfilment stirred her to vagueresentment, and she sighed as she rose and moved restlessly about the room. She lightedthe tall candles that stood upon the mantel-shelf, straightened a rug, moved a chair, andgathered up a handful of fallen rose-petals on her way to the window. She was about todraw down the shade, but, instead, her hand dropped slowly to her side, her fingersunclasped, and the crushed crimson petals fluttered to the floor.Outside, the purple dusk of Winter twilight lay soft upon the snow. Through an opening inthe evergreens the far horizon, grey as mother-of- pearl, bent down to touch the plain in amisty line that was definite yet not clear. At the left were the mountains, cold and calm, veiled by distances dim with fros