Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. ” “Some little tiff?” “No; but I don’t think I shall see them.
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