"Come on!" cried his guide, with terror in his voice.

"Come on!" Graham reached the pitch of the roof by an effort.
Over the ridge, following his guide's example, he turned about and slid backward down the opposite slope very swiftly, amid a little avalanche of snow.

While he was sliding he thought of what would happen if some broken gap should come in his way.

At the edge he stumbled to his feet ankle deep in slush, thanking heaven for an opaque footing again.

His guide was already clambering up a metal screen to a level expanse.
Through the spare snowflakes above this loomed another line of vast windmills, and then suddenly the amorphous tumult of the rotating wheels was pierced with a deafening sound.