Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. 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. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. With this she now entered. She cursed herself for a fool. Now if you are ready to go with me, I too am ready. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain.
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