‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. ” He seemed bored. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. 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. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers.
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