Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. We begin rehearsing on Monday at the ‘Garrick’. 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.
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