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 dare say no such thing," interposed his better half, authoritatively; "remain where you are, Sir. How perfectly charming. \" It was a lie: Lucy ate one forced meal a day, supper.
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