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Excerpt from Richard Rosny
The church-tower was visible, square and massive, bare to bleakest Winds and gray with storm, a familiar friend, a daily sight; surely it rocked in the tumult of sound; all was changing and falling, why not that solid square of stone? A confused hum and air of festivity was everywhere; in gossiping groups along the road and at cottage doors, in the unfamiliar aspect of the house, every room turned from its proper use, in the voices and laughter and clink of glasses coming from open windows, in servants standing about at the gate, in the carriage waiting, with white-favored men, and horses with clanking bits and stamping feet, in his own velvet suit, stiff broad collar', and shiny, uncomfortable shoes.
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