The spirit doesn't say anything at first. He kneels down, looking intently at the floor as he gathers pebbles of rubble, humming to himself as he does so. Then he starts writing in the dust, seemingly nonsense and certainly nothing that Mulcahy can glean any meaning from. Then he looks back at the fistfuls of stone, then back to his scribblings on the floor.

Finally, he stands up, facing Mulcahy. He tilts his head to one side, staring at the priest, and through him, and then straightens back up. Then he pushes the stones into Mulcahy's hand.

"You're the crowd. You're the adulteress. Only you've gotten it all confused. Somehow, you've made it just and righteous to cast the stones, so long as they're at yourself. Go on, then. Do it properly. Hurl these stones at yourself, with all your might. Not backwards, but forwards. Throw them overhand, and strike yourself in the temple. Surely you can do that, with righteous hated, if love has failed you."

He's asking the impossible, asking Mulcahy to make a rock circle the world. It would take more strength than everything the poor man could muster in his life.

Should Mulcahy try to do anything else, he'll suddenly find a feeling like overwhelming, petrifying dread locking up his body. This is the test. Throw the stone, with all your might, with all your hatred towards yourself.