"For God's sake leave me alone!" he cried.
A sleeper or two on near-by benches sat up and stared at us with their drowsily indifferent eyes.
"Then why are you making a fool of yourself like this?" I demanded.
"That's my own business," he retorted.
"Then you intend to keep it up?" I inquired.
"No, I don't," he flung back. "I can't."
"Then will you be so good as to talk to me?" His sullen anger seemed strangely removed from that exaltation which tradition imputes to last moments. It even took an effort to be patient with him.
"No, I won't," was his prompt retort. It dampened all the quixotic fires in my body. Then he rose to his feet and confronted me. "And if you don't get out of here, I'll kill you!"
His threat, in some way, struck me as funny. I laughed out loud.
But I did not waste further time on him.