No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. 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. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. When I've escorted you proud fool to his new quarters, I'll proceed to the Mint and look after Jack Sheppard. Oh, John.
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