Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone. 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. Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds.
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