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As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. Don’t look so frightened. He picked her up outside her last period Ceramics class. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. She had come to the end of her resources. 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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