If anything is not needed in the kilta--see here!' He pointed through the window--opening into space that was filled with moonlight reflected from the snow--and threw out an empty whisky-bottle.
'No need to listen for the fall.

This is the world's end,' he said, and went out.

The lama looked forth, a hand on either sill, with eyes that shone like yellow opals.

From the enormous pit before him white peaks lifted themselves yearning to the moonlight.

The rest was as the darkness of interstellar space.
'These,' he said slowly, 'are indeed my Hills.