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ad eyes glaring at him he looked round and realised the strange dead day.

The morning was wintry and dim, not misty, and the men move like fishes, but darkened with that shadow of cloud or snow which steeps everything in a green or copp3gp短编er twilight. The light there is on such a day seems not so much to come from the clear heavens as to be a phosphoresce3gp短编nce clinging to the shapes themselves. The load of heaven and the clouds is like a load of waters, feeling that they a3gp短编re on,