The Pressure Cooker.

I dislike these dark days when lights are needed in the house even at lunchtime. I dislike the leaden sky that glowers, and the maddened wind that tears at everything in a malicious frenzy, not whispering in the chimney, but howling. It makes me feel, as Macbeth put it, ‘cabined, cribbed, confined.’ When nature is in this sort of mood, present troubles seethe and push at the boundaries of self-control.