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The night was as keen as the edge of a newly-ground sword; breath froze on the coat-lapels in snow; the nose became without sensation, and the eyes wept bitterly because the horses were in a hurry to get home; and whirling through air at zero brings tears. But for the jingle of the sleigh-bells the ride might have taken place in a dream, for there was no sound of hoofs upon the snow, the runners sighed a little now and again as they glided over an inequality, and all the sheeted hills round about were as dumb as death.


This is from “In Sight of Monadnock” in Letters of Travel, 1892-1913.

Rudyard and Carrie, newly married, had arrived in Vermont by train from New York, at midnight in the depths of Winter. As they continued their journey by sleigh it was thirty below zero.



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