’ ‘I have no game. ” “It’s some sort of delirium,” said Capes. 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. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to.
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