"Where are ye going?" said a voice with a strong Scotch accent. I stopped and looked. . . . On one of the rocks sat a very tall man, almost a giant, with a flowing beard. . . . Here was an enthroned and shining god, whose ageless spirit weighed upon mine like a burden of solid gold: and yet, at the very same moment, here was an old, weather-beaten man, one who might have been a shepherd . . .
"I don't know you, Sir," said I, taking my seat beside him.
"My name is...
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