“Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. \" Obediently, Lucia rose from her seated position on the bed and approached the baby and the mother in wonderment. "He's audacity enough for anything. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. 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. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared. “Impossible to say,” he answered. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime.
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