He was still looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain.

It was a tremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly mountain, perhaps three miles away.

Aldous had never seen another like it.

Its two huge shoulders were of almost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared with oil.

Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock and snow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds.
MacDonald did not turn when he spoke.