"Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. 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. He did not spend more time with her. Greece was a different place. “In that laboratory one gets to disregard these passions,” began Capes. Wood, disdainfully.
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