“Whom—Mr Dallas? Yes.”
“No, no; Terry.”
“No; nor do I want to.”
“Yes; go and see him, poor wretch.”
“If I do he’ll accuse me of being the cause of all his trouble.”
“No, no; I’ve shaken hands with him.”
“Shaken hands?”
“Why not? My father is a clergyman. I want to recollect something of what he taught me.”
“But with a man like that, even if he is wounded?”
“But, poor fellow! he’s dying.”