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And the third whispered: "She is as the hungry hill spirit who feasts upon the entrails of the dead. Yea, she carrieth off the souls of the children. Ioh! Iooh!" Their voices rose in a maniacal cry of terror and denunciation. Annadoah rose. Clasping her hands, she demanded piteously: "Why . . . sayest ye this of me?" And they shrieked: "Thou stealest souls! By the angakoq shalt thou be accursed!"
Yellow vapors gathered about the dimming sun. Ominous shadows took form on the shimmering sea. "I-o-h-h-h iooh! Unhappy sun unhappy, unhappy Annadoah!" Taking fire in the subdued sunlight and descending from heaven like a gentle benediction of feathery flakes of gold over and about the dark, crouched figure, softly . . . very softly . . . the snow began to fall.
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