As he recalled their terror-struck faces he felt a scorn for them.

They had surely been more fleet and more wild than was absolutely necessary.
They were weak mortals.

As for himself, he had fled with discretion and dignity.
He was aroused from this reverie by his friend, who, having hitched about nervously and blinked at the trees for a time, suddenly coughed in an introductory way, and spoke.
"Fleming!" "What ?" The friend put his hand up to his mouth and coughed again.

He fidgeted in his jacket.
"Well," he gulped, at last, "I guess yeh might as well give me back them letters." Dark, prickling blood had flushed into his cheeks and brow.
"All right, Wilson," said the youth.

He loosened two buttons of his coat, thrust in his hand, and brought forth the packet.