Irish shrank and suffered the pain of hailstones falling on her body. The tie that fastened her wrists lost its smoothness after soaking as if it were embedded in the skin like a leather rope having soaked saltwater causing pain in her wrists.
She could not shake her legs anymore, but at last, she had to tuck in a corner of the terrace, her arms pulled and fastened.
She buried her head, her long hair wet on both sides of her cheek, her tiny shoulders shivering with hail and coldness intertwining. Her red naked feet were on the cold stones under the hailstones, and her white toes were almost green.
She felt that she would die the next moment.
Never feeling such coldness, she thought every minute was suffering. The hailstones were beginning to hurt her as if she had been prodded deeply by a thousand knives, but gradually she could no longer feel the pain.
The strength and temperature of the hail had numbed her entire back.
