She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. I wonder——” He turned slowly round. ” “The explanation seems to me to be reasonably simple,” Annabel said coldly. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. I have given up painting.
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