"Not enough--for that which I will do." We turned, following her gaze.

A hundred feet on high, stretching nearly across the gorge, an incredible curtain was flung.

Over its folds was movement--arms of spinning globes that thrust forth like paws and down upon which leaped pyramid upon pyramid stiffening as they clung like bristling spikes of hair; great bars of clicking cubes that threw themselves from the shuttering--shook and withdrew.

The curtain was a ferment--shifting, mercurial; it throbbed with desire, palpitated with eagerness.
"Not enough!" murmured Norhala.
Her lips parted; from them came another trumpeting--tyrannic, arrogant and clangorous.

Under it the curtaining writhed--out from it spurted thin cascades of cubes.