"Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. 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. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. " "You'd better send him," jeered the turnkey. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task.
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