“He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. I chose you for your strength, your cunning, your intelligence, your great beauty. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. 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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