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Those towering mountains, whose ``proud aspiring peaks'' cast silhouettes of shadow that seem drawn with india-ink; those vast plains, enchained with gentle winding hills and bordered with giant ranges; those oval ``oceans, where one looks expectant for the flash of wind-whipped waves; those enchanting ``bays'' and recesses at the seaward feet of the Alps; those broad straits passing between guardian heights incomparably mightier than Gibraltar; those locket-like valleys as secluded among their mountains as the Vale of Cashmere; those colossal craters that make us smile at the pretensions of Vesuvius, Etna, and Cotopaxi; those strange white ways which pass with the unconcern of Roman roads across mountain, gorge, and valley all these give the beholder an irresistible impression that it is truly a world into which he is looking, a world akin to ours, and yet no more like our world than Pompeii is like Naples.
Back toward Dry Bottom, and on the north and south, rose great, black thunderheads with white crests, seeming like mountains with snowcapped peaks. Between the thunder-heads were other clouds, of grayish-white, fleecy, wind-whipped, weird shapes, riding on the wings of the Storm-Kings.
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