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 wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. “I wrote it for you. But Ah Cum is widely known for his luck. He would never recognize me now.
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