. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. 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. She could have kissed Cathy. It is we who have become the parasites and toys. She rapped on Michelle’s door loudly. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread.
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