Jonathan Wild. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. I——” Then he stopped short, for he began to remember things. “I guess I’m not the only one who wonders about your past. 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. ‘Never fear, my love. YOU did. Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama.
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