George Coulson died in his seventies, having neither excavated the hill nor permitted anyone to do the digging for him. After his death, no one was interested in his plot of land. No one believed he’d been much more than a fanatic. So, Coulson’s Hill, which now serves as the name of a village – a crossroads, really – became something of a synonym for broken dreams, hesitation, and futility. Professor Bruno could not think of Coulson’s Hill without feeling both pity and scorn.
