Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. He did not disturb any of this litter, but left it as a mark of his prowess. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted.
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