’ A trifle discomposed at being caught examining his surroundings, Gerald was provoked into retort. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. His number was unlisted and unpublished. "How is the patient?" he asked.
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