“I don’t see why not,” he answered. This I have sworn to do—this I will do. 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. It pained Lucy to see Mike eating so sparely. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. .
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