Folds of scarlett drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
Repare-se no uso do ponto e vírgula. Ou como respirar depois de mais uma tentativa com uma das novidades da rentrée. Deus as tenha em grande conta; que eu não.