Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. 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. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. Why is the door fastened? Open it directly!" "Are you alone?" asked Jack, mimicking the voice of Kneebone.
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