She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. "It was silly. We aren’t worth it. And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away. ” He repeated several times that he would trust her, though it remained obscure just exactly where the trust came in. "Within the last few minutes, all my guilty life has passed before me. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. And then: “Of course! Always. ” Dessert was served. 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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