And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. "No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. " "For you!" exclaimed Jonathan; "don't flatter yourself that I'm thinking of you. I know you. Ah Coom. 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. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance.
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