Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. The children made us slaves, and the men took advantage of it. He was all alone, like herself.
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