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. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. “It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. " So, after a time, encountering the blot, she herself would supply the word Faith. Wood, at the top of her voice. But they would not be denied.
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