“It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. 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. . “All the time he is shouting and muttering. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. “Looks like old times here, I see. " "Ja—ja," returned the Hollander. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. “Both!” said Ann Veronica. It was impulsive and natural. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French.
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