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. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. ” Ennison’s voice shook a little. ‘But with more courage in her little finger than in many another female’s entire body.
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