"As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. 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. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. It makes me desire life beyond measure. Surely he was imagining this picture. You would suffer the torments of the damned for what you had done.
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