A girl—at my age—is grown-up. Ice had begun to form in the shallows. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. Never was there another girl like this one. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. And catching hold of Thames, he quitted the deck.
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