He recalled everything and felt ashamed, humiliated, self-debased.

He had outraged even a priest's hospitality with his brutish appetite, and he hated himself for it.

Disgust nauseated his soul apace with the physical sinking and squirming that grew upon him.
"I'm a shabby, worthless dog!" he muttered, with petulant accent; "why don't you kick me out, Father ?" The priest turned a collapsed and bloodless gray face upon him, smiled in a tired, perfunctory way, crossed himself absently and said: "You have rested well, my son.

Hard as the bed is, you have done it a compliment in the way of sleeping.

You young soldiers understand how to get the most out of things." "You are too generous, Father, and I can't appreciate it.