Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. 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. “I heard that she had chucked her show at the French places and gone in for a reform all round. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. "What the devil are you about! Will you allow yourself to be beaten by a couple of kids?" "Not if I can help it," returned Abraham, making a desperate effort to regain his feet. But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally.
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