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. “But, you see, appearances are very much against me. I’m not Gerald, remember. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. She will tell you all the story while I am gone. . I have since received a most extraordinary letter from her.
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