'Blades of cold'

 I’ve mentioned this passage before:

And then the nights came on and the frosts took hold again, and blades of cold slid under the doors and cut the knees off those who still knelt to say the rosary.

 

I thought, when I first read that sentence, that Claire Keegan is a wonderful writer, although I read it when it was warm. I thought of the sentence again last night, during the winter storm, and wanted to see it again.

• Source: Claire Keegan, Small Things Like These; New York: Grove Press, 2017, p. 2.