1 There was no moon, but the starlight was clear on the snow.
2 But on the twenty-first of December, the snow began to fall.
3 But the snow and the bitter weather had disheartened them all.
4 The snow did not stop falling all day, or during the night that followed.
5 In that moment on the hilltop, they saw behind them a whirling black group on the snow.
6 The occupants rolled out over the snow, and the fleetest of the wolves sprang upon them.
7 As Antonia said, the whole world was changed by the snow; we kept looking in vain for familiar landmarks.
8 It was a soft grey day outside, with heavy clouds working across the sky, and occasional squalls of snow.
9 The snow did not fall this time, it simply spilled out of heaven, like thousands of featherbeds being emptied.
10 The wind had the burning taste of fresh snow; my throat and nostrils smarted as if someone had opened a hartshorn bottle.
11 Blue puffs of smoke came from the stovepipe that stuck out through the grass and snow, but the wind whisked them roughly away.
12 They made a tunnel through the snow to the hen-house, with walls so solid that grandmother and I could walk back and forth in it.
13 The cornfields got back a little of their colour under the dazzling light, and stood the palest possible gold in the sun and snow.
14 As soon as the snow had packed hard, I began to drive about the country in a clumsy sleigh that Otto Fuchs made for me by fastening a wooden goods-box on bobs.
15 All about us the snow was crusted in shallow terraces, with tracings like ripple-marks at the edges, curly waves that were the actual impression of the stinging lash in the wind.
16 Antonia explained that her father meant to build a new house for them in the spring; he and Ambrosch had already split the logs for it, but the logs were all buried in the snow, along the creek where they had been felled.
17 Whenever one looked at this slope against the setting sun, the circle showed like a pattern in the grass; and this morning, when the first light spray of snow lay over it, it came out with wonderful distinctness, like strokes of Chinese white on canvas.
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