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. She stood without motion and without strength. . For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming. So long as matters remain as they are, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time.
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