What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. 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. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped.
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