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and kicked him as he turned to go away. As Azuma-zi presently
stood behind the engine and glared at the back of the hated
Holroyd, the noises of the machinery took a new rhythm, and sounded
like four words in his native tongue.
It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-zi
was mad. The incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may have
churned up his little store of knowledge and his big store of
superstitious fancy, at last, into something akin to frenzy. At
any rate, when the idea of making Holroyd a sacrifice to the Dynamo
Fetich was thus suggested to him, it filled him with a strange
tumult of exultant emotion.
That night the two men and their black shadows were alone in
the shed together. The shed was lit with one big arc light that
winked and flickered purple. The shadows lay black behind the
dynamos, the ball governors of the engines whirled from light to
darkness, and their pistons beat loud and steady. The world
outside seen through the open end of the shed seemed incredibly dim
and remote. It seemed absolutely silent, too, since the riot of
the machinery drowned every external sound. Far away was the black
fence of the yard with grey shadowy houses behind, and above was
the deep blue sky and the pale little stars. Azuma-zi suddenly
walked across the centre of the shed above which the leather bands
were running, and went into the shadow by the big dynamo. Holroyd
heard a click, and the spin of the armature changed.
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