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. He felt that he was getting on with her very slowly indeed, but he did not see how he could get on faster. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it.
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