When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. 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. But in that reservation it may be she went a little beyond the converse of his view. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it.
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