What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Like a petulant child he snapped. Something in his tone pinched her heart. ’ ‘Then they are soldiers. I'll repay you.
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