But the moon was hidden behind heavy clouds, and I soon found myself at a loss in a terribly dark zone of timber.

Already I had left the path.

I felt in my pocket for matches.
I had none.
My head was now clear enough, only deservedly heavy.

I was still quarrelling with myself for my indiscretions and my incivilities, one and all the result of his wine and my weakness, and this new predicament (another and yet more vulgar result) was the final mortification.

I swore aloud.