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In this fateful hour.

On Sunday it rained, a cold, bone-chilling November rain. Everybody came in wet from church.
Madeleine L’Engle, The Young Unicorns

How could they sleep? All day on the radio there had been hurricane warnings. How could they leave her up in the attic in the rickety brass bed, knowing that the roof might be blown right off the house, and she tossed out into the wild night sky to land who knows where?

The wide wooden floorboards were cold against her feet. Wind blew in the crevices about the window frame, in spite of the protection the storm sash was supposed to offer. She could hear wind howling in the chimneys. From all the way downstairs, she could hear Fortinbras, the big black dog, starting to bark.
Madeleine L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time

And title from Madeleine L’Engle, A Swiftly Tilting Planet.

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