" "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically. ” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses. . "Take care of your charge. ” “But how? It has only been a few days!” “She’s not even here. 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. We have so much to be thankful for. Father— dead.
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