The grey volcanic mass rose up slabbed and pinnacled
[Mr Hussey] was casually flicking at the amazing thing with his long handled whip.
"The mountain comes to Mahommed. The Hanging Rock comes to Mr Hussey."
Joan Lindsay
like a fortress from the empty yellow plain. The three girls on the box seat
could see the vertical lines of the rocky walls, now and then gashed with indigo shade,
patches of grey green dogwood, outcrops of boulders even at this distance
immense and formidable. At the summit, apparently bare of living vegetation,
a jagged line of rock cut across the serene blue of the sky.
"There she is ladies . . . only about a mile and a half to go!"
[remarked Miss McCraw with] a secret crooked smile.
Picnic at Hanging Rock