A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. " "Very well, sir. ” Michelle looked away. "Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. 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.
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