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The thunder-charged mass hung unbroken beyond the low, ink-black headland, darkening the twilight. By contrast, the sky at the zenith displayed pellucid clearness, the sheen of a delicate glass bubble which the merest movement of air might shatter.
The cloud swept onward, like a mass of cirrhi, in those shadows shrouded. Fleet as though wind-driven, dense as though thunder-charged, it moved over the plains.
A mass of heavy and lowering clouds, dark and thunder-charged, slowly moved along the sky; and a low, moaning sound, that seemed to sigh along the ground, boded the approach of a storm.