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. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. You called her a wanton!" "Because I had every reason to believe she was one. She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts.
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