“I have not quarrelled with her. " "By the name of The Tigress?" The doctor smiled, but shook his head. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. 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 won't be much left for you," he said.
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