“You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. ” He stalked around the room. " "And why should you care whether she forgave you or not?" Spurlock jumped to his feet, the look of the damned upon his face. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. 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. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts.
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