" "'The avenger of blood himself shall slay the murderer'," said Wood, who was culling for himself certain texts from the scriptures. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. 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. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps. . "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. People think it is, but they are wrong.
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