Ten thousand devils are tearing me within.

You--you could have comforted me; but you would not.

Fill the glass I tell you." "I should be killing you were I to do it." "Killing me! killing me! you are always talking of killing me.

Do you suppose that I am afraid to die?
Do not I know how soon it is coming?
Give me the brandy, I say, or I will be out across the room to fetch it." "No, Scatcherd.

I cannot give it to you; not while I am here.