The fog pinioned me
like a clammy winding-sheet; I could see nothing; I was too chilled to
feel; I was as alone and powerless as a lost canoe in the ocean; but
somewhere on earth or in air I heard a company of men pass me by. The
sounds were unmistakable. I heard the swish of wet leaves, the pad of
feet, and even the creak of the damp leather of the carrying-straps.
Something cracked, pricking in my ears in a blur of sound, and I knew
that the men had brushed a branch with the canoe that they were
carrying on their heads. They were near me; at any moment they might
come within touch of my hand. But where were they? Whoever they were,
whatever they were, the wish to see them became an obsession. I knew
no feeling but my tingling to get at them. I pushed to right and left.
I knocked against trees. The sounds were here, then there. I could
not reach them. They taunted me as lost spirits tantalize a soul in
purgatory. Whichever way I turned they were just out of my grasp. I
clenched my hands and swore that I would not be beaten.
But my pitiful little oath was all bluster and impotent defiance. I
was as helpless as a squirming puppy held by the neck. I ran like a
madman, but I ran the wrong way.
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