“Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself shedding tears. They are all at prayer at this hour. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. 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. My reply to all of them has been the same. Mr.
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