She set her feet together and let herself go.
Almost at the same instant a sound that was like the bellow of an infuriated bull reached her from above.
She tried to turn, but the skis were already slipping over the snow.

To preserve her balance she was forced to go, and for seconds that seemed like hours she slid down the hillside, her heart thumping in her throat; her nerves straining and twitching to check that maddening progress.

For she knew that sound.

She had heard it before, had shrunk secretly many a time before its coarse brutality.

It was the yell of a man in headlong, furious wrath, an animal yell, unreasoning, hideously bestial; and she feared, feared horribly, what that yell might portend.
She reached the valley, and managed to swerve round without falling.