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. Shortly Ruth and Spurlock took the way home. " "Thank'ee,—thank'ee. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear.
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