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. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. So was I, in fact. I burned it. Everything was going to hell. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. "The part was crooked," she explained. To settle things, you know.
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