The old count's troyka, with Dimmler and his party, started forward, squeaking on its runners as though freezing to the snow, its deep-toned bell clanging.
Tongues were, he felt, to cease whenever the perfect should come; and the believer who spoke with the tongues of men and of angels, if he had not love, was no better than the sounding brass and clanging cymbal of the noisy heathen mysteries.