The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. . He gave you a poison. CHAPTER XXVI. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. 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. “Home, of course,” she answered. ’ ‘Probably not.
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