" "What is it?" asked the poor woman. ’ With pretty imperiousness, she gestured to the bed beside her. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. 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. “You’ll do no such thing, Sheila. John picked it up and put it in her hands. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. Jeez! It was about time. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence.
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