For two or three hours longer the moon
poured its light through the empty air.
Unbroken by clouds it fell straightly, and lay almost like a chill white
frost over the sea and the earth.
During these hours the silence was not
broken, and the only movement was caused by the movement of trees and branches
which stirred slightly, and then the shadows that lay across the white spaces
of the land moved too.
In this profound
silence one sound only was audible, the sound of a slight but continuous
breathing which never ceased, although it never rose and never fell.
It continued after the birds had begun to
flutter from branch to branch, and could be heard behind the first thin notes
of their voices.
It continued all
through the hours when the east whitened, and grew red, and a faint blue tinged
the sky, but when the sun rose it ceased, and gave place to other sounds.
The Voyage Out (Chapter 26)
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