Whether he was afraid of wearying me, or whether some painful recollection had occurred to him, it was of course impossible to say.
The ugly face, to which he owed his first poor little morsel of prosperity, became overclouded by care and doubt.

Bursting into expressions of gratitude which I had certainly not deserved--expressions, so evidently sincere, that they bore witness to constant ill-usage suffered in the course of his hard life--he left me with a headlong haste of movement, driven away as I fancied by an unquiet mind.
I watched him retreating along the path, and saw him stop abruptly, still with his back to me.

His deep strong voice travelled farther than he supposed.

I heard him say to himself: "What an infernal rascal I am!" He waited a little, and turned my way again.

Slowly and reluctantly, he came back to me.