She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. Peste, but everything had become difficult. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. She throws a sort of spell over us all. O'Higgins," said the manager, amusedly. White is psychologically gifted. 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.
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