Explore "The Lowest Rung" by Mary Cholmondeley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung. / RUDYARD KIPLING.
The sudden splendour of the afternoon made me lay down my pen, and tempted me afield. It had been a day of storm and great racing cloud-wracks, after a night of hurricane and lashing rain. But in the afternoon the sun had broken through, and I struggled across the water-meadows, the hurrying, turbid water nearly up to the single planks across the ditches, and climbed to the heathery uplands, battling my way inch by inch against a tearing wind.