But, at best, in a large field, in a blizzard and in pitch
darkness, and with no visible landmarks, it is not easy to double
back on one's route, with any degree of accuracy. In Cyril's
case, the thing was wholly impossible.
Blindly, he had been traveling in an erratic half-circle. Another
minute of walking would have brought him to the highroad, not far
from the Place's gateway. And, as he changed his course, to seek
the road, he moved at an obtuse angle to his former line of
march.
Thus, another period of exhausting progress brought him up with a
bump against a solid barrier. His chilled face came into rough
contact with the top rail of a line fence.
So relieved was the startled child by this encounter that he
forgot to whine at the abrasion wrought upon his cheek by the
rail. He had begun to feel the first gnawings of panic. Now, at
once, he was calm again. For he knew where he was. This was the
line fence between the Place's upper section and the land of the
next neighbor.
All he need do was to walk along in the shelter of it, touching
the rails now and then to make certain of not straying, until he
should come out on the road, at the gate lodge.
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