’ At that, a flush drenched her cheeks and she snatched her hand away. 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 night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching.
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