Nor is such a poetic fancy inappropriate, for there was one thing oddly romantic about this inrush of air and gentle after an extended, leaden and uplifting day. The burst of mild released and the burst of air blowing seemed to come back almost concurrently, and the wind particularly caught every little thing in a throttling violence. Many a dusty clerk or cleric, plodding a telescopic street of poplars, thought for the hundredth time that they had been like the plumes of a hearse; when this invisible vitality caught and swung and clashed them spherical his head like a wreath or salutation of seraphic wings. One destructive influence is that teenagers can spend almost all their time sitting in the entrance of the pc or the internet cafe, being glued to play from early morning until midnight without even eating anything.
But three males and two girls had finally discovered even the grey and chilly garden extra tolerable than the black and cheerless interior. There was in it something extra impressed and authoritative even than the previous wind of the proverb, for this was the nice wind that blows no one hurt. When the wind got here, it broke up the sky and shouldered the cloudland left and right, unbarring nice clear furnaces of night gold. Many an unnoticed girl in a dank walled garden had tossed herself into the hammock with the same intolerant gesture with which she might need to toss herself into the Thames. That wind rent the waving wall of woods and lifted the hammock like a balloon and confirmed her shapes of quaint clouds far past, and pictures of bright villages far under, as if she rode heaven in a fairy boat.
The three men stood stiffly and aslant in opposition to the wind as if leaning towards a wall. The flying blast struck London simply where it scales the northern heights, terrace above terrace, as precipitous as Edinburgh. At some stage of these heights, a terrace judi slot of tall gray houses, largely empty and almost as lonely as the Grampians, curved round on the western end, so that the final constructing, a boarding establishment called “Beacon Home,” offered abruptly to the sunset its high, narrow and towering termination, just like the prow of some deserted ship. It was round about this place that some poet, probably drunk, seemed up astonished in any respect those streets gone skywards, and (thinking vaguely of glaciers and roped mountaineers) gave it the title of Swiss Cottage, which it has by no means been in a position to shake off.