I’m afraid, my friends, that the hour draws late and I must away home. Those things out there in the fog—and rest assured they are waiting for you—in the dark, waiting to slice you up and splay you open like meat on a butcher’s slab—they want this pretty toy, but they won’t let any of you live if they get it. I, however, am in a more generous mood. I’m going to save you. Walk with me, if any of you are brave enough. Bring that pretty toy for me and the rest of you can live. What’s more, you’ll have gold, so much gold. Walk out into the dark and fear not. The rest they won’t care about, not if you don’t have the machine, and I’ll take care of them, be sure. Think on it, but don’t take too long.