The howling of the north wind accompanied its fury as it blew over the helpless tufts, and all that the grass could do to survive the wind was to sway with it.
The view was especially relatable, an odd analogy that aggravated Adela tremendously as she saw herself in the weakness of that grass, dancing along with a wind that came from afar and acted above all, a reminder of her ordeal with a certain man who grew more obscure by the passing moment.
Wrapped in her winter coat, Adela gazed upon the three cottages with begrudged eyes, trespassing over lands that were no longer her own, and breaking her father's word at a sensitive time that could not bear any error on her part.
