” This made her even angrier, so she stopped speaking to him for a week. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. 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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