” “I can’t imagine what makes you fly out against everything like this,” said Miss Stanley to her niece. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion. The weather harmonized with their feelings. 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. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. “The Miss Pellissier who was at White’s with us.
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