Yet it was not fire that clothed it but rather some phosphorescence, since from it came no heat.
Yes, a phosphorescence arranged in bands of ghastly blue and lurid red, with streaks of other colours running up between, and a kind of waving fringe of purple.
The fire-mountain thundered on with a voice like to that of avalanches or of icebergs crashing from their parent glaciers to the sea.

Its terrific aspect was appalling, and its weight caused the solid rock to quiver like a leaf.

Watching it, we felt as ants might feel at the advent of the crack of doom, for its mere height and girth and size overwhelmed us.

We could not even speak.

The last words I heard were from the mouth of Oro who screamed out: "Behold the balance of the World, you miserable, doubting men, and behold me change its path--turning it as the steersman turns a ship!" Then he made certain signs to Yva, who in obedience to them approached the porthole or search-light to which she did something that I could not distinguish.