The voice of Nan Cherry, shrill and aggressive, sounded its war alarm on the quiet, dawn-glimmering street. Whereupon a crowd of sparrows, busy picking up from before that door of the unluckiest of unlucky numbers what looked like a supper flung out the night before, flew away with great commotion. Their panicky flight made a cloud of wings against a long white cloud, behind which boiled the gold of a September morn ready to overflow the world of Narrowfields. The town lay in a hollow below the little street. In the imperfect light it appeared as the body of a long dragon, from whose back rose half a hundred chimney stacks. These stacks pricked into the opaline glimmer of the sky like the ch…
Or read it translated: 日本語 · 中文 · हिन्दी · Español · العربية · Français · বাংলা · Português · Русский · Bahasa Indonesia · اردو · Deutsch · Kiswahili · 한국어