"Thanks, Mr.Robson," said he, taking a long breath.
Tom Robson made signs to the others to leave him alone.

Begmand put his pipe into his waistcoat pocket, got up, and went into the little room by the kitchen, where he slept.

The unwonted drink had roused again the fire of his youth, and never had he felt his helplessness so keenly as he did that evening.
The others still sat drinking till there was no more, and the lamp began to grow dim as the oil gave out.

Then they staggered off; Woodlouse away through West End, while Tom clambered up a steep path that led over the hill at the back of Begmand's cottage.

He lived with a widow in a small house near the farm buildings of Sandsgaard.
Torpander went with Robson, because he was afraid to go through West End alone, and because he wanted to have a last glance at Marianne's window, which looked on to the hillside.
Martin shut the door after them, and managed to lift up the lid of a sort of locker in which he was going to sleep.