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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. ” Sir John’s reply was incoherent. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent.
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