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. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. “I believe that you would find her in some respects curiously altered. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. Michelle walked towards the sloping Victorian stairs.
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