...wearied of her presence,
Day by day and night by night I grew to hate her—
Would God that she or I had died!
There was a man called Bronckhorst—a three-cornered, middle-aged man in
the Army—grey as a badger, and, some people said, with a touch of
country-blood in him. That, however, cannot be proved. Mrs. Bronckhorst
was not exactly young, though fifteen years younger than her husband.
She was a large, pale, quiet woman, with heavy eyelids over...