“I’m not afraid, but I’m very nervous.”
“I’m scared of the future. I’m scared of the past. I’m nervous at the moment.”
“He gave a melancholy sigh and stood looking at her a moment, with his hands behind him, giving short nervous shakes to his hunting-crop. “Do you know I’m very much afraid of it – of that remarkable mind of yours?”
“But if I’m with you, I’m not afraid.”
“I’m a nail biter. Not when I’m nervous, but when I misplace my hammer.”
“Reaching over, I stilled his leg. Eyes wide, he turned to me and whispered, “I’m nervous. I’m really fucking nervous. I never get nervous. What the hell is wrong with me?”