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. I don't know what you have done; I don't want to know now. Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. It was his heart. "You can generally understand that language.
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