The long-drawn wail of two old boughs rubbing against each other brought out the perspiration in beads on her forehead.

The swoop of bats in the darkness over her was as the wings of unearthly creatures.

When she reached Mr.
William Bell's field she fled across it as if pursued by an army of white things, and arrived at the Barry kitchen door so out of breath that she could hardly gasp out her request for the apron pattern.
Diana was away so that she had no excuse to linger.

The dreadful return journey had to be faced.

Anne went back over it with shut eyes, preferring to take the risk of dashing her brains out among the boughs to that of seeing a white thing.