He was so cold that he went into a sailors' tavern to drink a glass of grog, and when the hot and pungent liquor had scorched his mouth and throat he felt a hope revive within him.
Perhaps he was mistaken.

He knew his own vagabond unreason so well! No doubt he was mistaken.

He had piled up the evidence as a charge is drawn up against an innocent person, whom it is always so easy to convict when we wish to think him guilty.

When he should have slept he would think differently.
Then he went in and to bed, and by sheer force of will he at last dropped asleep..