To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. Mr. But it is not entirely without hope, for perhaps they may find some succour with Charvill. 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. They struck her as cold and indifferent. For my blood you made it very hot indeed.
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