She wondered what he was thinking of as he stood suspended.

His thick hair was tumbled over his forehead.

Why might she not push it back for him, and remove the marks of Beatrice's comb?
Why might she not press his body with her two hands.
It looked so firm, and every whit living.

And he would let other girls, why not her?
Suddenly he started into life.

It made her quiver almost with terror as he quickly pushed the hair off his forehead and came towards her.
"Half-past eight!" he said.