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HE was a big man and he looked as if he carried a load of trouble. That showed in his tired eyes and the tightness of his full lips. He walked slowly, almost stiffly, from his Buick convertible towards the Canyon's rim. The Canyon was hidden from him until he was close to the rim. Other people were looking, but he did not seem to notice them. The Canyon came slowly into his view. First, the tops of mountains on a level with his eyes; then the giant formations, the mountain ranges, the gorges and deep valleys, the pale reds and mauves, browns, blues and yellows, each colour laying a million years bare to the winds. Shadows, mistily grey, moved slowly across the still, silent vastness, as small white clouds drifted across the face of the sun; when one was gone, another took its place, and each shadow changed each colour that it fell upon. Although he was so big, the Canyon dwarfed the man; had there been a hundred thousand, all giants, it would have dwarfed them. The few who stood and looked into the silent depth spoke in muted voices; two turned away abruptly, as if they could not bear to contemplate the scene a moment longer. The big man went closer to the stone wall, his tired, bloodshot eyes roving, as if he sought to see beyond the mountains and through the rocks of ages.
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