But the rogue has never brought it." He let his head drop on his rude pillow heavily.

"Never, never brought it!" I gazed at him, full of horror.

The man was too ill to hear me, too ill to reason, too ill to recognise the meaning of his own words, almost.
Otherwise, perhaps, he would hardly have expressed himself quite so frankly.

Though to be sure he had said nothing to criminate himself in any way; his action might have been due to anxiety for our safety.
I fixed my glance on him long and dubiously.

What ought I to do next?
As for Sebastian, he lay with his eyes closed, half oblivious of my presence.