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. You’re just a particular being with nothing else in the world to class with you. " "You'd better send him," jeered the turnkey. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain.
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