Despite the snow, despite the falling snow. - A. S. Byatt

And where may hide what came and loved our clay? as the Poet asked finely.

There are things that happen and leave no discernible trace, are not spoken of or written of, though it would be wrong to say that subsequent events go on indifferently, all the same, as though such things had never been.

I shall from time to time write a small Clue — so that you may be the more thoroughly confounded.