Her two hands went up to her throat and caught tightly at her neck.
"There's—a—storm—"
She looked out into the quiet, darkening evening.
"A storm?"
"There's a bad storm—; coming."
He could hardly say the words.
She stared up at him; her childlike eyes were very wide.
"Will it—be—soon—?"
He never took his blue green eyes from off her face.
"It's coming—quick."