It was as hot as an oven where I sat.

Not a breath of air was stirring, and the rays of the sun, glaring right down and then reflecting up again from the white clay, brought the perspiration out of me in streams.

Every minute I was obliged to rub my eyes clear of it with the handkerchief.
"Now, before passing the kerchief over my face, I always shook it open; and each time I did so, I noticed that the rage of the wildebeest seemed to be redoubled! In fact, at such times he would leave off goring the heap, and make a fresh attempt to rush up at me, roaring his loudest as he charged against the steep wall! "I was puzzled at this, as well as astonished.

What could there be in my wiping my face to provoke the wildebeest anew?
And yet such was clearly the case.

Every time I did so, he appeared to swell with a fresh burst of passion! "The explanation came at length.