Its deserted houses were full of all doleful things.

Cormorants and the daughters of the owl lodged in the lintels of them.
Sullen desolation was on the threshold, while satyrs cried to their fellows across tracts of brown rush-grown land.

Aliens came to hiss and passed by wagging their hands.

Over all was the monotony of the gray sky, descending and still descending with clouds that came upon the land, mistily folding it in close embraces of death.

Voices sounded far off and unreal through the gloom.