“Go on,” he said.

She marched valiantly a few steps in. Her little body started convulsively at the sudden, derisive can-cank-ank of the geese.

A blankness spread over her. The geese trailed away with uplifted heads under the low grey sky.

“They don't know you,” said Brangwen. “You should tell 'em what your name is.”

“They're naughty to shout at me,” she flashed.

“They think you don't live here,” he said.

Later he found her at the gate calling shrilly and imperiously:

“My name is Anna, Anna Lensky, and I live here, because Mr. Brangwen's my father now. He is, yes he is. And I live here.”