He looked at me with surprise and alarm, then he seemed to wilt away; the shoulders drooped with dejection, and he uttered a deep sigh.
I held out my hand.

He shook it, but his hand felt clammy.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, and I could see the sweat starting out on his forehead.

It was evident that he was badly frightened.
"The potatoes," he murmured faintly.

"They are precious." Between us we picked them up and replaced them in the broken bag, which he now held carefully in the hollow of his arm.