"Now, Bateson, sit down on that chair.

Here are some matches.

You must finish this cigar to the end before you leave this room." The wretched Bateson turned green and began to howl.
"Oh no, please sir! Don't say that, sir! It will kill me! Please, Mr Railsford!" Railsford quietly lit a match, and handed it to the boy.

Bateson fairly went down on his knees, and grovelled at the master's feet.
"Oh, Mr Railsford! I'll promise never to touch one again--I really will if you'll only let me off.

I should die if you made me.