The only thing I can do for my dead friend is to save you, if I can.

I saw the account of his death in a newspaper an hour ago, and I came at once.

Will you please not think that I am mad, until you have heard me?
I was his friend, and I have eaten your bread these many years.

I must speak." "Tell me your story," said Veronica, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands.
He began at the beginning, and told her all, as Bosio had told him.

He omitted nothing, for he had the astonishing memory which sometimes belongs to students, besides the desire to be perfectly accurate, and to exaggerate nothing.