. 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. ” “At any rate,” she declared, “your remarks decided me. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. Besides, I do not want a price on my head. It melted her heart. .
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