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. " Downstairs he sought the hotel manager. “Act three. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself.
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