That's all she needs." And he went away wondering whether the little creature would pull through the winter or not.
And Jacques did not throw the food into the fire any more; he even tried to think about it, and care about it.

And he got out the Farmer's Almanac,--yes, he did,--and tried reading the jokes aloud, to see if they would amuse Mary; but they did not amuse her in the least, or him either, so that was given up.

And so the winter wore on.
It had to end sometime; even that winter could not last forever.

The iron grasp relaxed: fitfully at first, with grim clutches and snatches at its prey, gripping it the closer because it knew the time was near when all power would go, drop off like a garment, melt away like a stream.

The unchanging snow-forms began to shift, the keen outlines wavered, grew indistinct, fell into ruin, as the sun grew warm again, and sent down rays that were no longer like lances of diamond.