Breathing was an effort; the inhaled air did not satisfy the lungs, and seemed powerless to expand them.
Overhead the clouds, of a blue-black intensity, seemed almost to touch the trees; the river was of ink.

The rowers said nothing, but they lingered on the bank and watched Durnovo's face anxiously.

When he took his seat in the canoe they looked protestingly up to the sky.

Durnovo said something to them rapidly, and they laid their paddles to the water.
Scarcely had the boat disappeared in the bend of the river before the rain broke.

It came with the rush of an express train--the trees bending before the squall like reeds.