It makes me sick--all through.

Oh, Buck, they's a tingle in the tips of my fingers still from the time I had 'em in his throat.

And it makes me feel unclean--the sort of uncleanness that won't wash out with no kind of soap and water.

Buck, I'd most rather die myself than fight a man!" A vast amazement overspread the countenance of Buck Daniels as he listened to this outburst; it was as if he had heard a healthy man proclaim that he had no desire for bread and meat.

Something rose to his lips, but he swallowed it.
"Then it looks kind of simple to me," he said.