E. R. Punshon, The Saving of Pete Conlan (1918)
“ His only consolation was to sit by the fire at night and think what Hall would have to go through. Great Heavens, I don't suppose any man ever hated any other quite so awful as Mike Pierce came to hate that little London chap from the Mile End Road. When the weather broke, the snow came, the bitter, blinding snow, driving so thick and fast before the gale that a man could not see his mittened hand if he held it before his face, and the dogs set on the trail would only whimper and turn their noses up-wind. For a week they were held fast, and they not fifty miles on their journey. ”
