As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. ‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. Stanley. You care for me just a little, I know. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. . . He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether.
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