A minute later the chaise had started on the road. As though it
were going backwards and not forwards, the travellers saw the same
scene as they had before midday.

The low hills were still plunged in the lilac distance, and no end
could be seen to them. There were glimpses of high grass and heaps
of stones; strips of stubble land passed by them and still the same
rooks, the same hawk, moving its wings with slow dignity, moved
over the steppe. The air was more sultry than ever; from the sultry
heat and the stillness submissive nature was spellbound into silence
. . . . No wind, no fresh cheering sound, no cloud.

But at last, when the sun was beginning to sink into the west, the
steppe, the hills and the air could bear the oppression no longer,
and, driven out of all patience, exhausted, tried to fling off the
yoke. A fleecy ashen-grey cloud unexpectedly appeared behind the
hills. It exchanged glances with the steppe, as though to say, "Here
I am," and frowned. Suddenly something burst in the stagnant air;
there was a violent squall of wind which whirled round and round,
roaring and whistling over the steppe. At once a murmur rose from
the grass and last year's dry herbage, the dust curled in spiral
eddies over the road, raced over the steppe, and carrying with it
straws, dragon flies and feathers, rose up in a whirling black
column towards the sky and darkened the sun. Prickly uprooted plants
ran stumbling and leaping in all directions over the steppe, and
one of them got caught in the whirlwind, turned round and round
like a bird, flew towards the sky, and turning into a little black
speck, vanished from sight. After it flew another, and then a third,
and Yegorushka saw two of them meet in the blue height and clutch