"Ward the blows from him, Cassandra." "It's a pretty dark night for a ride," remarked Sam.
"I have rode in darker ones." "I dessay," replied Sam.
"Cover your hand with my handkerchief," I said; "the wind is cutting." "Do you wish it ?" "No, I do not wish it; it was a humanitary idea merely." He refused to have it covered.
The air had a moldy taint, and the wind blew the dead leaves around us.

As we rode through the darkness I counted the glimmering lights which flashed across our way till we got out on the high-road where they grew scarce, and the wind whistled loud about our faces.

He laid his hand on my shawl.

"It is too light; you will take cold." "No." We reached the mills, and pulled up by the corner of a building, where a light shone through a window.
"This is my office.

You must go in--it is too chilly for you to wait in the wagon.