"I will try to be, Jacqueline.

Leveller, demagogue, and Jacobin I am not; but for the rest, who knows--who knows?
Men are cloudy worlds--and I dream sometimes of a Pursuer." The next morning the skies had changed, and Rand and Jacqueline fared forward through a sodden, grey, and windy day.

The rain had ceased to fall when at twilight they came into Richmond by the Broad Street Road.
Lights gleamed from the wet houses; high overhead grey clouds were parting, and in the west was a line of red.

The wind was high, and the sycamores with which the town abounded rocked their speckled arms.

The river was swollen and rolled hoarsely over the rocks beneath the red west.