“Ass!” he went on, still warming. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. The investigators should have thought to check inside the garbage can. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. But for him——” Something in her sister’s tone startled Anna. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round.
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