It seems to me a very bad case.

I'm angry, I'm sore, I'm sick." Valentin lay there staring, with his eyes more brilliantly lighted, his lips soundlessly parted, and a flush of color in his pale face.

Newman had never before uttered so many words in the plaintive key, but now, in speaking to Valentin in the poor fellow's extremity, he had a feeling that he was making his complaint somewhere within the presence of the power that men pray to in trouble; he felt his outgush of resentment as a sort of spiritual privilege.
"And Claire,"-- said Bellegarde,--"Claire?
She has given you up ?" "I don't really believe it," said Newman.
"No.

Don't believe it, don't believe it.

She is gaining time; excuse her." "I pity her!" said Newman.
"Poor Claire!" murmured Valentin.