Tu-Kila-Kila rose; the kings of Fire and Water held the umbrella over him.

The attendants on either side clapped hands in time to the sacred tom-tom.

With proud, slow tread, the god retraced his steps to his own palace-temple; and Muriel and Felix were left alone at last in their dusty enclosure.
"Tu-Kila-Kila hates me," Felix said, later in the day, to his attentive Shadow.
"Of course," the young man answered, with a tone of natural assent.

"To be sure he hates you.

How could he do otherwise?
You are Korong.