Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room. 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. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. Above her head was an aura of white fire. You would not have the slightest difficulty.
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