"What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. 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. "However, I will be there.
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