He described her privately to himself as a splendid girl. 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. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. \" \"No, but can you carry my lunch bag? Where is yours?\" Michelle asked. "But never mind who, or what I am.
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