The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. "You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. ’ ‘Yes, she duped me finely,’ agreed Gerald. Lose no time. 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. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable.
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