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. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam.
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