“She can’t. ” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. He took his social pleasures once a year in Hong-Kong, after Easter. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. 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.
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