She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. She reflected before answering. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome.
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