ce from the tops of
guyed metal flues. Steam rises in clouds from vents and
chimneys and the sound of it all -- the hissing, the
clanging, the rumbling, the shrieking -- comes faintly, muted
by the falling snow.

In the foreground is a street -- COLUMBINE STREET -- which
inhabits the bottom of a narrow ravine and plunges directly
down the hillside, straight at the mill. Columbine is a sad
looking street, a grim-looking street, a street hanging on by
the skin of its teeth. Dilapidated s