I turned into a field, and stumbled along over its uneven surface, swollen into hard frozen lumps, so that it was like walking upon stones.

The summer was gone and the winter was here, and my heart was colder and more miserable than any winter in the world.

I found myself at length at the hillock where Turkey and I had lain on that lovely afternoon the year before.

The stream below was dumb with frost.

The wind blew wearily but sharply across the bare field.