I feel like that today.

There's a tightening sensation about something under my waistcoat--my heart, perhaps--a sense of depression that may be either physical or mental, that I can't get rid of.

If a man had walked by my side from Chelsea to Holborn whispering forebodings of evil into my ear at every step, I couldn't have felt more downhearted than I do." "What did you eat for breakfast ?" asked Mr.Sheldon impatiently.

"A tough beefsteak fried by a lodging-house cook, I daresay--they _will_ fry their steaks.

Don't inflict the consequences of your indigestible diet upon me.