"Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. 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. Mr. I’ve muddled all this business. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. She held out her hand frankly.
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