Its fragrance filled the little room.

It reached the nostrils of the poor slave, who shivered as if an ague had smitten him.
He hesitated, advanced toward the table, retreated, looked at Mr.
Belcher, then at the brandy, then walked the room, then paused before Mr.Belcher, who had coolly watched the struggle from his chair.

The victim of this passion was in the supreme of torment.

His old thirst was roused to fury.

The good resolutions of the preceding weeks, the moral strength he had won, the motives that had come to life within him, the promise of a better future, sank away into blank nothingness.