There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. 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. Phillips Oppenheim This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.
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