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He was very intent to do the thing that was
expected of him. His nerves and muscles were quivering,
his mind was perhaps a little confused, but he
felt neither fear nor anger. His hand that had been
trodden upon throbbed and was hot. He was a little
nervous about his bearing. He knew he was not
afraid, but he was anxious not to seem afraid. In his
former life he had often been more excited in playing
games of skill. He was desirous of immediate action,
he knew he must not think too much in detail of the
huge complexity of the struggle about him lest he
should be paralysed by the sense of its intricacy.
Over there those square blue shapes, the flying stages,
meant Ostrog; against Ostrog he was fighting for the
world.
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