Excerpt from Section or the Fatal Letter: From the Diary of Inspector Byrnes
There had been a heavy fall of snow in New York city.
Snow wraps the earth in a veil of chilly purity; a purity not of youth and life, but of coldness and death. The heats of summer are forgotten; the royal hues of autumn have turned brown and withered; the tender verdure of spring seems distant and problematical; the blank winding-sheet of frozen white prevails over all things. We know that the ground underneath is hard, impenetrable and barren. The icy air comes keenly to the nostrils, and makes the flesh shrink and shiver. We turn our thoughts inward, and cease to court nature.
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