The blades on the top spun faster and faster. “All right so far,” she said to herself. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. 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. ” “It isn’t nice getting there. . Since then he has persistently annoyed me.
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