“We should get out of here. My mom doesn’t realize that I’ve got my own style. ‘I live in Kent. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. It did not seem quite fair. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. 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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