—"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. She always dawdled, so it was easy. E. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. ’ ‘Now why didn’t I make that connection?’ Gerald asked of the air in a tone of regret. 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.
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