You'll be able to see lots of your friend when we've gone." "You be hanged," observed Percy, now in an uncomplimentary mood; "haven't I told you I'm not coming?
What more do you want ?" "Oh, of course, if you're so taken up with this reverend thing of beauty," said one of them sulkily, "we're out of it.

I should have thought he could have snuffled to himself for a day without wanting you to help him." Scarfe all this time stood by in a rage.

The sight of Jeffreys was to him like the dead fly in the apothecary's ointment.

It upset him and irritated him with everybody and everything.

He had guessed, on receiving no reply to his recent polite letter, that he had exposed his own poor hand to his enemy, and he hated him accordingly with a double hatred.
He contrived, however, to keep up an appearance of scornful indifference.
"You are still reaping the rewards of virtue, pious homicide," he sneered.
"I still envy the upright man who does his duty," replied Jeffreys, scarcely less bitterly.
"What do you mean, you--" "I mean what I say," said Jeffreys, turning on his heel, and taking Percy's arm.
They walked home, and before Clarges Street was reached Percy had told his friend an unvarnished story of the follies of the last few days, and enlisted his support in his determination to pull up.
There was something touching in the mingled shame and anger of the proud boy as he made his confession, not sparing himself, and full of scorn at those who had tempted him.