Like a priest pointing to the altar, you pointed to the hill of Notting.

'So long,' you said, 'as you are ready to die for the sacred mountain, even if it were ringed with all the armies of Bayswater.' I have not forgotten the words, and I have reason now to remember them, for the hour is come and the crown of your prophecy.

The sacred hill is ringed with the armies of Bayswater, and I am ready to die." The King was lying back in his chair, a kind of wreck.
"Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord," he murmured, "what a life! what a life! All my work! I seem to have done it all.

So you're the red-haired boy that hit me in the waistcoat.

What have I done?
God, what have I done?
I thought I would have a joke, and I have created a passion.