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A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. Perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which I may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again. Ireton, you are in league with him. 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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