She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. ‘It is nothing. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. I have been very foolish, but it is over. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. This Joan would hold them for a little. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. No! That was impossible. 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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