It was years before your time. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. 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. Wild wishes to keep a man out of the way, he'll speedily find the means to do so.
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