The scoundrel!" "It was all a mistake--a wretched mistake!" I murmured.
He wouldn't believe me; but he was too ill to get up, as he wanted.

I tried to make him more comfortable by assisting him to a seat on my keg of blasting powder.
As he began to revive a little, he drew a cigar from his pocket, and asked me if I had a match.

I had none; but there was a small fire under my frying-pan, and I brought him a coal on a chip.

Miss Imogen, when she saw the coal on the chip, began to laugh again.

That embarrassed me.