I thought Bess would have cried her pretty eyes out when she heard you was nabbed. 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. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year.
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