So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death.
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