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. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. "You'll find her quiet enough to-day, Sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. I've a child here whom I wish to convey across the water without loss of time. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head.
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