"And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. I waited for her at the back. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. She leaned back in her chair.
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