outstretched wings, were laid, as it were, on their keels by the wind.
Finally, the leather apron which covered us began to flutter about and
to beat against the sides of the conveyance.

The lightning flashed right into the britchka as, cleaving the obscurity
for a second, it lit up the grey cloth and silk galloon of the lining
and Woloda's figure pressed back into a corner.

Next came a terrible sound which, rising higher and higher, and
spreading further and further, increased until it reached its climax in
a deafening thunderclap which made us tremble and hold our breaths. "The
wrath of God"--what poetry there is in that simple popular conception!

The pace of the vehicle was continually increasing, and from Philip's
and Vassili's backs (the former was tugging furiously at the reins) I
could see that they too were alarmed.

Bowling rapidly down an incline, the britchka cannoned violently against
a wooden bridge at the bottom. I dared not stir and expected destruction
every moment.

Crack! A trace had given way, and, in spite of the ceaseless, deafening
thunderclaps, we had to pull up on the bridge.

Leaning my head despairingly against the side of the britchka, I
followed with a beating heart the movements of Philip's great black
fingers as he tied up the broken trace and, with hands and the butt-end
of the whip, pushed the harness vigorously back into its place.

My sense of terror was increasing with the violence of the thunder.