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A new threat - Potent metaphor
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As the weather forecast had predicted, an ominous blizzard enveloped Burgess. Never had snow clouds looked scarier, a tremensous gray, thick, unbearably heavy, scudding concentrically above the town from all winds. The most sensitive denizens, if keen on listening, would have perceived low grumbles of indignation and whines of scorn coming from them.
Yet, albeit compact as a spontaneous reasoning, snow fell down slowly, in close slivers. In less than an hour Burgess glimmered like a feigned Moon. There was no one to behold that sight, not in the streets anyway.
Jack did not like it when the stray snowflakes sedimented on him. It made him feel lonely, in an unexplicably strong way. So he had taken shelter under the roof of the belltower. The familiar caress of the hood on his head gave him no consolation. It only caused him to grow astray from the origin of his grief, placing it into an undetermined glass shadow.
Wait. And hope. Stillness did not suit the spirit riding the winter storms