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. "Without proper medical care, he would have been dead by morning. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman.
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