"Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. They were filthy after the burial. Arrived in England, she had sought out Gosse, to keep an eye on his activities and thus keep one step ahead of him, meanwhile hoping that she might find herself another means of proof at Remenham House. It was one of the most educational disillusionments in Ann Veronica’s career. I hated him. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead.
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