But they did not come to rest either, not for the most
imperceptible fraction of time. As soon as they touched
the white, underlying surface, they would start to scud
along horizontally at a most amazing speed, forming with
their previous path an obtuse angle. So long as I watched
the single flake--which is quite a task, especially while
driving--it seemed to be in a tremendous hurry. It rushed
along very nearly at the speed of the wind, and that was
considerable, say between thirty-five and forty miles an
hour or even more. But then, when it hit the trail, the
crack made by horses and runners, strange to say, it did
not fall down perpendicularly, as it would have done had
it acted there under the influence of gravity alone; but
it started on a curved path towards the lower edge of
the opposite wall of the crack and there, without touching
the wall, it started back, first downward, thus making
the turn, and then upward again, towards the upper edge
of the east wall, and not in a straight line either, but
in a wavy curve, rising very nearly but not quite to the
edge; and only then would it settle down against the
eastern wall of the track, helping to fill it in.
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