In his heart he was ashamed of his fears; in his heart he knew himself for a craven.

He realized to the full the hideousness of his selfishness, and yet, as before, he was not strong enough to conquer it.

In short, his love of himself was greater than his love of his brother, or of twenty brothers.
The morrow--a blustering day of late March found him again at that alehouse at Penycumwick in the company of Jasper Leigh.

A course had occurred to him, as the only course now possible.

Last night his brother had muttered something of going to Killigrew with his proofs since Rosamund refused to receive him.