’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. ’ A laugh escaped her. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. . He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “It’s very good,” she said. I'll tell you what.
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