Explore "Angel" by B.M. Croker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE morning succeeding the arrivals, and the storm, was cloudless. There are few things more beautiful, or more treacherous, than a break in the rains in the Himalayas. The sun shone brilliantly, the sky was a dense turquoise blue, against which stood out a far-away range of jagged white peaks. A stillness lay upon the deep, dim valleys beneath the forest bungalow, there was scarcely a sound besides the twitter of birds, and the thunder of a water-course.
Miss Ball was standing in the verandah pulling on her gloves, and contemplating the scene. The party were on the eve of departure.