" So saying, he hurried up stairs, opened the back door, and was quickly in the yard. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. I figured it would hurt your feelings if you knew I still talked to him, so I kept my mouth shut. ” “But I can’t do that. 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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