dusts

Updated: July 29, 2026

The trees were bright green; the spring hopefulness was still unstained by the dusts of summer; the sky in the water was bright and clear, but broken by long waves, by quivering bands of black, as the barge drove through. The breeze was stirring; but it did not stir me as the spring breeze used to do. Was this dulness of feeling in itself an anticipation?

H. G. (Herbert George) Wells - The Country of the Blind, and Other Stories