’ ‘It is well seen you are not Gérard,’ Melusine said, but thankful now that he was not. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. I am a thing to be used. 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. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. It had been a big event for teens across town.
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