. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. 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. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. ‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. Sydney sprang up. What she actually wanted was the present state of affairs to continue indefinitely. 196 Succeeded where she had not. “How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly.
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