’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. “Well, he’s really smart. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. 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. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. .
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