"Will you have some breakfast?" I said. "You must be hungry, rambling about all night!" I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly.
"No, I'm not hungry," he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour.
I felt perplexed: I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.
"I don't think it right to wander out of doors," I observed, "instead of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate this moist season. I daresay you'll catch a bad cold or a fever: you have something the matter with you now!"
"Nothing but what I can bear," he replied; "and with the greatest pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone: get in, and don't annoy me."
I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.

'Will you have some breakfast?' I said. 'You must be hungry, rambling about all night!' I did not like to ask directly where he had been.
'No, I'm not hungry,' he answered.
'I don't think it right to wander out of doors at night,' I advised him, 'it is not wise in this moist season. I daresay you'll catch a cold or a fever: you have something the matter with you now!'
'Nothing but what I can bear,' he replied. 'Get in, and don't annoy me.'
In passing him, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.
