The Voice on the Downs
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You are Mr. Thomas Marvel, a man of leisure—mostly because you have no job and no home. You are currently sitting in a ditch on the desolate downs near Iping, contemplating your two pairs of very ugly boots. It is a quiet, misty morning, perfect for doing absolutely nothing.
Suddenly, a voice speaks from right behind your shoulder. "They are boots, anyhow."
You turn around. There is no one there. Just the empty grassy hills and the wind blowing through the furze bushes. You look left. You look right. You are entirely alone.
"Am I drunk?" you whisper to yourself. "Have I had visions?"
"Don't be alarmed," says the Voice, sharp and clear out of the empty air.