“May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. “Still, of course, it is possible. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. So she married him. 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.
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