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. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. It drives one mad at times. Have you been away from Morningside Park?” “I’m not interrupting you?” “You are. “But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. " "Poor Jack!" exclaimed Thames. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning.
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