Many times of an evening I would stand on the shore and looked out to sea, where a curious

phosphorescent(发 磷光的) green was changing to a transparent blue. Behind the camp the setting sun, like a flaming ball, painted the mountains purple and gold. The air was like champagne, and as we were in the Gulf Stream the weather was beautifully mild. While violent snowstorms were raging in England, we were enjoying the most perfect flying weather and a day which lasted for nearly twenty-four hours.

On leave for four days, Nobel and I drove across Scotland to the west coast and took the ferry (渡船) over to Skye. The small stone quay (码头) was spotted with shops; a bus was drawn up by the waterside, a hotel advertisement on its side. I looked at Nobel and he nodded. We had come pre-pared to be disappointed. But we had not driven far before the road gave way to a winding(蜿蜒的) track and the only signs of habitation(居住地) were a few crofters' (苏格兰小农场佃户的) cottages. It was evening when we drew up outside the Sligachan Inn at the foot of the Coolin Mountains. The innkeeper welcomed us and showed us our rooms.

From every window was the same view, gray mountains rising in austere(简朴的) beauty, their peaks hidden in a white mist, and everywhere a great feeling of stillness. The shadows that lengthened across the valley, the streams that coursed down the rocks, the thin mist turning now into night, all a part of that stillness. I shivered; Skye was a world that one would either love or hate. There could be no in-between.

"It is very beautiful, "said the landlord.

" Yes, " I said, " it's beautiful.

"But only mountaineers or fools will climb those peaks. "

" We're both fools, " Nobel said shortly.

"So be it. Dinner is at eight-thirty. "

We stood a while at the window. The night was clear and our heads felt clear and cold as the air. We smelled the odor(气息) of the ground in the spring after rain, and behind us the wood smoke of the pine fire in our room, and we were content. For these are the odors of nostalgia(乡愁), spring mist and wood smoke, and never the scent of a woman or of food.

We were alone in the inn save for one old man who had returned there to diet. His hair was white, but his face and bearing were still those of a mountaineer, though he must have been a great age. He never spoke, but appeared regularly at meals to take his place at a table tight-pressed against the window, alone with his wine and his memories. We thought him rather fine.

What was the weather like in Scotland at the time of this story？

A．It was very warm.

B．It was severely cold.

C．It was not really cold.

D．Snowstorms were raging across the land.