’ Thus adjured, but mindful of Trodger’s orders, the militiaman went down the hall backwards, his eyes fixed on the prisoner. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. Oh God! pardon me. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. There's the paragraph. That's the way she strikes me.
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