It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. ” “The real, identical other,” said Capes, and took and bit the tip of her little finger. 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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