Upon the illimitable stretch of ice rising before us like the slopes of a glass mountain, the full rays of the moon poured liquid silver.
"My Attainment of the Pole"
Frederick A. Cook
Burning but three pounds of oil all night, the almost liquid air was reduced to a normal temperature of freezing point.
"My Attainment of the Pole"
Frederick A. Cook
The sky had cleared, the weather improved, a liquid charm of color poured over the strange other-world into which we advanced.
"My Attainment of the Pole"
Frederick A. Cook