Never
a wheel comes to Jabliak, and so it is a village without streets.
Everything which passes here is horse-or woman-borne, and for hay they
use long narrow sledges which slide over the stones and slippery grass
as though it were snow.
"Urrgh," said a man, "you should see this in winter. Snow ten and twelve
feet deep, and only just the roofs and the tops of the telegraph-poles
emerging."
The village escorted us to see the famous Black Lake below the peaks of
Dormitor.
The lake is beautiful enough, but too big for mystery, too small to be
impressive. One had imagined it twinkling like the wicked pupil of a
witch's eye, with cornea of white stones and eye-lashes of pine trees,
and we desecrated even its stillness by shooting at wild duck with a
rifle.
Jan had been describing to the villagers how well Jo rode; they now
think he is a liar. Her horse took an unexpected jump at a small
obstacle; the huge hump at the back of the saddle rose suddenly, threw
her forward, and before she had realized anything, she was hanging
almost upside down about the horse's neck, helpless because of the
enormous steeple in front.
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