"
As he looked about the poor room, as he saw the dust that the sunlight made
so visible, he wondered that the house of cards could so recently have
held him within its shadow. He felt as though he had passed through some
terrible nightmare that the light of day rendered not only fantastic but
incredible. That old Peter Westcott had indeed been flung out of the high
window of Norah Monogue's room.
Leaving Scaw House on his right he struck through the dark belt of trees
and came out at the foot of the Grey Hill. The dark belt of cloud was
spreading now fast across the blue--soon it would catch the sun--the Tower
itself was already swallowed by a cold grey shadow.
Peter began to climb the hill, and remembered that he had not been there
since that Easter morning when he had kissed an unknown lady and so flung
fine omens about his future.
Soon he had reached the little green mound that lay below the Giant's
Finger. Although the Grey Hill would have been small and insignificant in
hilly country here, by its isolation, it assumed importance. On every side
of it ran the sand-dunes--in front of it, almost as it seemed up to its
very feet, ran the sea. Treliss was completely hidden, not a house could
be seen. The black clouds now had caught the sea and only far away to the
right the waves still glittered, for the rest it was an inky grey with a
touch of white here and there where submerged rocks found breakers.
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