‘No, but I had to badger you,’ said Gandalf. ‘I wanted the truth. It
was important. Magic rings are - well, magical; and they are rare and
curious. I was professionally interested in your ring, you may say;
and I still am. I should like to know where it is, if you go wandering
again. Also I think you have had it quite long enough. You won’t need
it any more. Bilbo, unless I am quite mistaken.’
     Bilbo flushed, and there was an angry light in his eyes. His kindly
face grew hard. ‘Why not?’ he cried. ‘And what business is it of
yours, anyway, to know what I do with my own things? It is my own. I
found it. It came to me.’
     ‘Yes, yes,’ said Gandalf. ‘But there is no need to get angry.’
     ‘If I am it is your fault,’ said Bilbo. ‘It is mine, I tell you. My
own. My precious. Yes, my precious.’
     The wizard’s face remained grave and attentive, and only a flicker in
his deep eyes showed that he was startled and indeed alarmed. ‘It has
been called that before,’ he said, ‘but not by you.’
     ‘But I say it now. And why not? Even if Gollum said the same once.
It’s not his now, but mine. And I shall keep it, I say.’
     Gandalf stood up. He spoke sternly. ‘You will be a fool if you do.
Bilbo,’ he said. ‘You make that clearer with every word you say. It