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. I've got to know why. “I was half hoping that I might be allowed to see you home. Everything in the world had changed for her. But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in…. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. Their conversation became stilted. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars.
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