He had lost the bright gods, and he had not been accepted by the dark. He was in a no soul’s land, and in its isolation his own soul was withdrawn, small and heavy as a stone within him, and about his evil deed. No wonder it could not take wing and make the heralding music. That was the whole of reality now, the little stone inside, and outside the cold, dark ravine and the inescapable watcher.
-Walter Van Tilburg Clark
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