The blast that swept him came off New Hampshire snow fields and ice-hung forests.
It seemed to have traversed interminable
leagues of frozen silence, filling them with the
same cold roar and sharpening its edge
against the same bitter black and white
landscape. Dark, searching, and sword-like, it
alternately muffled and harried its victim, like
a bullfighter now whirling his cloak and now
planting his darts. This analogy brought home
to the young man the fact that he himself had
no cloak, and that the overcoat in which he
had faced the relatively temperate airs of
Boston seemed no thicker than a sheet of
paper on the bleak heights of Northridge.
George Faxon said to himself that the place
was uncommonly well named. It clung to an
Reread the paragraph that begins on page 2
and ends on page 3
Click the underlined phrase that uses a literary
device to make Northridge Junction seem like a
desperate person.
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