Once he had the letter in his hand, that he might tear it.

But he did not tear it.

He put it back into his pocket, and thought again of his grievance.

Surely it was his first duty in such an emergency to be firm! It was certainly a wretched life that he was leading.

In the evening he went all alone to an eating-house for his dinner, and then, sitting with a miserable glass of sherry before him, he again read and re-read the epistle which he had written.