V

The corporal blush’d down to his fingers ends⁠—a tear of sentimental bashfulness⁠—another of gratitude to my uncle Toby ⁠—and a tear of sorrow for his brother’s misfortunes, started into his eye, and ran sweetly down his cheek together; my uncle Toby’s kindled as one lamp does at another; and taking hold of the breast of Trim’s coat (which had been that of Le Fever’s ) as if to ease his lame leg, but in reality to gratify a finer feeling⁠⸺⁠he stood silent for a minute and a half; at the end of which he took his hand away, and the corporal making a bow, went on with his story of his brother and the Jew’s widow.