“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. I know very well Gerald has been fishing for information about that girl, and I am determined to find out what he knows. 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.
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