” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. She wasn’t well-liked really, I think people were jealous of her. 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. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pineapple rum I opened yesterday.
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