The poor boy, wanting his empty coat! The incident, however, caused her to review the recent events. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. 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. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. With your permission, I will go on in my own way. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years.
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