These were the mornings when the cold bath, which I could never forego, no matter what the circumstances were, tested my resolution.

For I was sleeping in the loft where the bitter wind fanned my cheeks during the night.

Zoe had found it too rigorous, and preferred the danger of an intruder to the cold.

Even snow sifted on my face from rifts in the shingles which we had overlooked.

But nevertheless I adhered to the morning lustration, sometimes going to the brook to do it.