Do let me alone." Two minutes afterwards he begged my pardon for those sharp-spoken words.

"It was not THEE that spoke, John," I said.
"No, you are right, it was not I.

It was a sort of devil that lodges here:" he touched his breast.

"The chamber he lives in is at times a burning hell." He spoke in a low tone of great anguish.

What could I answer?
Nothing.
We stood at the window, looking idly out.