Nothing short of the cataclysmal end of the world could have provided drama to match the stupendous stage-setting of that stormy sky.

All doom and destiny and wrath of avenging deities and days of judgment seemed concentrated in that frown of gigantic darkness.

Beneath it the landscape seemed to grow livid as a corpse, and terror to fill with trembling the very trees and grasses.

Oedipus and Orestes and King Lear rolled into one could hardly have accounted for that angry sky.

Such a sky it must have been that carried doom to the cities of the plain.