Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. 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. If a certain kink in your sense of honour will not permit you to go to her as a lover, go to her as a comrade. . I think you are hard. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision.
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