I felt the spell myself, piercing through my awe and hatred of the spell-weaver, and I won't say but that my weary head kept time with the others to that weird singing.
A man brought a torch and lit the brushwood on the altar.

Instantly a flame rose to heaven, through which the figure of the magician showed fitfully like a mountain in mist.

That act broke the wizardry for me.
To sacrifice a cat was monstrous and horrible, but it was also uncouthly silly.

I saw the magic for what it was, a maniac's trickery.
In the revulsion I grew angry, and my anger heartened me wonderfully.
Was this stupendous quackery to bring ruin to the Tidewater?
Though I had to choke the life with my own hands out of that warlock's throat, I should prevent it.
Then from behind the fire the voice began again.

But this time I understood it.