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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 entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. . “They might do you good,” she remarked. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. They’ll know. ” Annabel laughed softly. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. Melusine sighed with frustration.

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