A cold wind swept down from it and set us shivering.

Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out.

It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky.
Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him.
We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us.

We looked back on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands.

The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders.