“Get up,” he groaned, “while I’m so weak and bad that I can’t stir?”
“Can’t stir,” I said, as I realised how thoroughly the doctor had read him, and I understood now why Mr Frewen was so indifferent instead of being sympathetic. “Why, there’s nothing the matter with you at all. You can move as well as I can. Get up, sneak!”
“Oh!” he groaned, “you’re as great a brute as the doctor,” and he turned up his eyes till only the whites showed, making him look so ghastly in the dim light, that I was ready to fancy I was misjudging him after all.
But I recalled his manner and his utterance as soon as he had made sure that the doctor had gone, and thought himself quite alone.
“Get up,” I said again, “and leave off this miserable shamming. There’s nothing the matter with you at all.”
He groaned again, and it made me feel so angry at the thought of his believing that he could impose upon me again, that I raised my right foot, whose toes seemed to itch with a desire to kick him.
“Get up!” I cried angrily again.
“I can’t, I can’t!” he groaned.
“Get up,” I said, “or I’ll lie down by you and punch your head that way!”
“Oh, you coward, you coward!” he moaned.