He smothered it down with such a good will that the reaction set his heart to pounding. Easy enough. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. It depresses one, you know. 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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