Away, with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, from the town, burrowing
among the dwellings of men and making the streets hum, flashing out into
the meadows for a moment, mining in through the damp earth, booming on in
darkness and heavy air, bursting out again into the sunny day so bright
and wide; away, with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, through the
fields, through the woods, through the corn, through the hay, through the
chalk, through the mould, through the clay, through the rock, among
objects close at hand and almost in the grasp, ever flying from the
traveller, and a deceitful distance ever moving slowly within him: like as
in the track of the remorseless monster, Death!
Dickens, Dombey and Son
