“Oh, theories! Being in love is a fact. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. My janizaries shall go with me. Few men could have done as much. 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. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave.
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