But she veiled her feelings. He died when I was. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. 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 addition, the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything. Nigel Ennison, Annabel.
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