The moments
passed and each one saw a swelling of the volume of sound. The sullen roar
just below him was gradually lost in a distant roar. A steady wind now blew
through the canyon. The great walls seemed to gape wider to prepare for the
torrent. Bostil backed slowly up the trail as foot by foot the water rose. The
floor of the amphitheater was now a lake of choppy, angry waves. The willows
bent and seethed in the edge of the current. Beyond ran an uneven, bulging
mass that resembled some gray, heavy moving monster. In the gloom Bostil could
see how the river turned a corner of wall and slanted away from it toward the
center, where it rose higher. Black objects that must have been driftwood
appeared on this crest. They showed an instant, then flashed out of sight. The
boom grew steadier, closer, louder, and the reverberations, like low
detonations of thunder, were less noticeable because all sounds were being
swallowed up.
A harder breeze puffed into Bostil's face. It brought a tremendous thunder, as
if all the colossal walls were falling in avalanche.
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