He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Thus, McClintock carried to Copeley's press about half a million pounds of copra. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. ” He was dismissed, and he understood it. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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