Sir—Mr. Burroughs—my dear friend—
Well.
What is the matter with you?
With me? ... nothing.... Oh ... ah ... I pray you, brother, do not regard my speech; I am weary of this work, and the sooner we give it up now, the better. I have done very little good, I fear ... two deaths to my charge, where I had hoped a ... ah, forgive me, brother; pray forgive me.... But how is this?... What’s the matter with you?
With me!
Yes—with you. What have I done, that you should block up the door-way of your own house, when you see me approach? And what have I done that you should try to hide your face from me, while you are searching mine with fire, and looking at me with half-averted eyes?
With half-averted eyes—
Matthew, Matthew—we are losing time—we should know each other better. You are much less cordial to me than you were a few days ago, and you know it. Speak out like a man ... like a preacher of truth—what have I done?
What have you done, brother George—how do I know?
Matthew Paris ... are we never to meet again as we have met? never while we two breathe the breath of life?