The end of /The Sheep Look Up/:
Opening the door to the visiting doctor, all set to apologize for the flour on her hands – she had been baking – Mrs. Byrne sniffed. Smoke! And if she could smell it with her heavy head cold, it must be a tremendous fire!
"We ought to call the brigade!” she exclaimed. “Is it a hayrick?”
“The brigade would have a long way to go,” the doctor told her curtly. "It’s from America. The wind’s blowing that way.” (6/7)
NEXT YEAR [the preceding pages cover December to November]
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread.”
– Milton, “Lycidas” (7/7)