" "Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. Her anger died and she eyed him. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. She leaned a little towards him. 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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