“What have you brought to us here?”
“I have brought nothing.”
“What have you to offer us?”
“I can offer nothing.”
He got up from the ground and faced the wind. He put his back to the Giant's Finger because of the force of the gale. The rain was coming down now in torrents.
He felt a great exultation surge through his body.
Then the Voice—not in the rain, nor the wind, nor the sea, but yet all of these, and coming as it seemed from the very heart of the Hill, came swinging through the storm—
“Have you cast This away, Peter Westcott?”
“And this?”
“That also—”