"Thames Darrell once destroyed," pursued Jonathan. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. 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. I have the right also to throw you out. And if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child. At any moment, Cathy Beck could arrive home and see them, then he would be eating dinner with 6 them, almost whether he liked it or not. Who invented them? Nobody knows.
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