But it had burned her pure and left her transparent as crystal.

Pity swelled in the throat of Byrne as he realised the anguish of her long waiting.

Fear mingled with his pity.

He felt that something was coming which would seize on her as the wind seizes on the dead leaf, whirling her off into an infinity of storm and darkness into which he could not follow a single pace.
He turned back towards the window.

The rush of air played steadily, and then in pulses, upon his face.