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. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. "I don't exactly know the rights of that affair," rejoined Griffin, with some curiosity.
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