Martin sat up straighter.
“Overlook the This, my mad companion, and look for That!”[4]
Roberts stared at him with amazement rising to horror.
“Destroyer of words!” he said. “My God! You destroyer of sand and clay and rock that make the brilliant hills!”
“Yes. Destroyer.” Martin nodded in agreement.
Roberts got up, holding unsteadily to the arm of the chair.
“I’ll leave you to your destiny!” he cried with savage vehemence.
“Unless it’s interwoven,” answered Martin coldly.
The adviser’s eyes grew bright as though with fever.