"No, no!"
"Light the candles!"
"It's too much!"
"Don't go on!"
"Seventy-five—seventy-six—seventy-seven— seventy-eight—seventy-nine—"
The sound dominated the protest. Some one began to laugh, an hysterical, feverish laughter that chilled Beecher to the bones. He put out his hand and steadied the body of the woman next to him.
"Eighty-five—eighty-six—"
"Hurry, oh, hurry—please hurry!" cried the voice of Nan Charters, and some one else cried:
"Enough—this is terrible!"
"Ninety-five—ninety-six—ninety-seven— ninety-eight—ninety-nine, and one hundred."