_I_ didn't want to look him in the face.

The man was a trafficker in human blood, an evil liver, and I hated him.

He had to pay his price; would have to pay--but I didn't want to see him pay it.

There was a limit.
I began to excuse myself, and slid out between the groups of excellent plotters.

As I was going, she said to me: "You may come to me to-morrow in the morning.".