Explore "Our Lady of Darkness" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Snow, soft, dazzling, bewildering, was again falling in the streets as Ned, a spectre of desperation, hurried along them. The city was all one strung movement of flakes -- cloud materialising, phantoms blocking the widest and the least avenues of hope. The soulless persistency of them numbed his heart, blinded his eyes. He stumbled as he went, feeling like one who, in a nightmare, frantically strives forward without advancing.
Pamela, and Théroigne, and Nicette! The one on the way to her dressmaker's; the one buried -- naked, and buried alive; the third!