“How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. 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. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection.
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