192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. " "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. 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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