I saw also that with difficulty he was holding himself in hand.
"I'm scared," he stammered, "scared!" I wrote out a requisition on the surgeon for a sleeping-potion and sent it to him by the steward, giving the man to understand I wanted it for myself.

Uninvited, Talbot had seated himself on the sofa.

His eyes were closed, and as though he were cold he was shivering and hugging himself in his arms.
"Have you been drinking ?" I asked.
In surprise he opened his eyes.
"I can't drink," he answered simply.

"It's nerves and worry.

I'm tired." He relaxed against the cushions; his arms fell heavily at his sides; the fingers lay open.
"God," he whispered, "how tired I am!" In spite of his tan--and certainly he had led the out-of-door life--his face showed white.