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Srikanta After this, three or four days dragged by in almost uninterrupted monotony. I say 'almost' because everything except the daily sport was invariably the same. I soon observed a rapidly waning enthusiasm for sport among all: whether this was out of consideration for Piari's distaste for it, I cannot say. No one seemed willing to stir out of the tents. But they did not want me to go away. There was no special reason for me to wish to bolt except the disgust I had conceived for the baiji. Her presence affected me like a physical assault: I only felt relief when I could get away from her. If I could not do that, I had to look somewhere else, talk to someone, or in some such way distract my attention. I could feel that every moment she was trying to meet my eyes. The first day or two she had attempted a few jokes at my expense, but my attitude made her give up all levity.

It was a Saturday. Everything had grown perfectly intolerable to me. As I had made up my mind to go after dinner, music had been arranged for the afternoon. The baiji had grown tired, and suddenly somebody began the pick of all stories, ghost stories. In an instant we all gathered around the speaker.

At first I was not much attracted by the story but soon I sat up and was listening greedily. The speaker was an elderly gentleman from the village. He knew the delicate art of story-telling to perfection. He was saying, 'If any gentleman here disbelieves in the spirit-world, let him have all his doubts set at rest for ever to-night in this very village. To-night will be a moonless Saturday night, and, whatever kind of man he may be, a saint or a sinner, a Brahmin or a Sudra, whether he goes alone or in the company of others, if he visits the cremation-