The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. 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. " "'Tis he, by Heaven!" cried Jonathan; "this is lucky. " "I cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland firmly.
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