Drink for him had a queer phase. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. You must let me do whatever I can for you. 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. “Let’s go home. ” She commanded. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. It always comes out sooner or later.
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