She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. But what a monster was this Emile. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. He has three days to live. 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. “Just your Science room with the planes. " Ruth stood with drawn brows; she was trying to recall. ‘Playing games to tease me, that’s all he can think of doing.
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