A great noise of cries rose up into the clear air.
"I suppose that is what I missed," said Dewes, "not the noise, not the mere crowd--you can get both on an English racecourse--but the colour." And suddenly before Shere Ali's eyes there rose a vision of the Paddock at Newmarket during a July meeting.

The sleek horses paced within the cool grove of trees; the bright sunlight, piercing the screen of leaves overhead, dappled their backs with flecks of gold.

Nothing of the sunburnt grass before his eyes was visible to him.

He saw the green turf of the Jockey Club enclosure, the seats, the luncheon room behind with its open doors and windows.
"Yes, I understand," he said.

"But you have come back," and a note of envy sounded in his voice.