’ He sat looking her over in silence for a moment or two, his thoughts revolving around the name and the way it fitted so exquisitely on quite another set of features. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. 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. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose.
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