Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. And me, I know very much of soldiers. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. I don’t conceal it. I mean my cut-offs and boots. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. She entered the room in the shadows. “I’ll turn you here. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow.
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