” “It’s so strange to think of you—troubled by such things. 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. We've ridden post all the way, and I'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day. I’m sorry.
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