“How’s the star?” John’s father asked. 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. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl.
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