I tried it myself, Sir. "Oh!" she gasped. 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. I have been thinking these things over lately, and it seems to me that marriage for a girl is just the supremest thing in life. “Did your foster dads ever try to molest you?” “Of course they did, John. ” He mumbled, driving on. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were.
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