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. Mr. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present. Indeed I must. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. Please don’t tell anyone, mister. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb.
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