I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain. ‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. “I must explain to her. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. . Can you inform us whence it came?" "I should think so. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. 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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