Couldn't tell who or what it was in the dark and just hit out." "An' 'twas me you hit, of course," Kelly seconded, his face brightening for the moment.
Leach and Johnson took no part in the discussion, and it was plain to see that their mates looked upon them as men for whom the worst was inevitable, who were beyond hope and already dead.

Leach stood their fears and reproaches for some time.

Then he broke out: "You make me tired! A nice lot of gazabas you are! If you talked less with yer mouth and did something with yer hands, he'd a-ben done with by now.

Why couldn't one of you, just one of you, get me a knife when I sung out?
You make me sick! A-beefin' and bellerin' 'round, as though he'd kill you when he gets you! You know damn well he wont.

Can't afford to.