Opposite her small gate was the stile that led uphill, under the tall hedge between the burning glow of the cut pastures.

The sky overhead throbbed and pulsed with light.

The glow sank quickly off the field; the earth and the hedges smoked dusk.

As it grew dark, a ruddy glare came out on the hilltop, and out of the glare the diminished commotion of the fair.
Sometimes, down the trough of darkness formed by the path under the hedges, men came lurching home.

One young man lapsed into a run down the steep bit that ended the hill, and went with a crash into the stile.
Mrs.Morel shuddered.