Capt. Crewe

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face.

It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven.

The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to.

She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.

At this moment, she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe.

She was thinking of the big ship, of the lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers' wives who used to try and make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.

Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one time she was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets where the day was as dark as the night.

She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.