He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. 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. " The girl smiled and began to munch a sandwich. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke.
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