” “If you want to ask a favour,” he remarked smiling, “you have made it almost impossible for me to refuse you anything. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. ” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray. 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. Mrs. My people don’t know what to do.
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