She heard the sound of carpenter's tools coming from the shed into which Bates had retired.

No other hint of humanity was in the world to which she listened, which she surveyed.

As she folded her arms she folded her bright coloured old shawl about her, and seemed to gather within its folds all warmth of colour, all warmth of feeling, that was in that wild, desolate place.
A flake of snow fell on the shawl; she did not notice it.

Another rested upon her cheek; then she started.

She did not move much, but her face lifted itself slightly; her tear-swollen eyes were wide open; her lips were parted, as if her breath could hardly pass to and fro quickly enough to keep pace with agitated thought.