“Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. ” She looked around the apartment again. " "I do love him," cried Blueskin, "and that's the long and short of it. 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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