It was as though she ought to have worn short skirts and her hair in a long braid down her back.

Hers was the body of a young boy.

When she was free from pain, and the colour had come back to her cheeks a little, she smiled at him, and was about to put out her hand as a child might to a brother or a father, when suddenly a shadow stole into her eyes and crept across her face, and she drew her clenched hand close to her body.

Still, she tried to smile at him.
His quiet, impersonal, though friendly look soothed her.
"Am I very sick!" she asked.
He shook his head and smiled.

"You'll be all right to-morrow, I hope." "That's too bad.