I haven't forgotten her previous history. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. 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. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob.
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