Though," said the thieftaker, with a complacent smile, "all the world seems to tremble at it. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. 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. There was a pleasant numbness in the bottle; that's why I went to it.
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