The wind was getting stronger. By now it was a truly wild and squally night. I drew back the curtain and took a look out of the window. On the far side of the glass the darkness itself seemed to be moving. Trees thrashed about in the gale; branches flickered in front of streetlights, throwing fantastic shadows and losing in torrents the last of their remaining leaves, which rattled along the road and blew against the side of the house with the sounds of harsh whispering.
'Against the Dead' by John Howard
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