I wish thou would sing thyself.

Happen it might sweeten thee a bit." And Stephen Hatton had kept himself to himself, about John's early singing thereafter.
This morning there was no song in John's heart and no song on his lips.
He dressed silently and rapidly as if he was in a hurry to do something and yet he did not know what to do.

His mother's positive assertion, that the best way out of the difficulty was to let it solve itself, did not satisfy him.

He wanted to see his wife.

He knew he must say some plain, hard words to her; but she loved him, and she would surely listen and understand how hard it was for him to say them.
He went early to the mill.