"Go on. There was a hint of tears in her voice. ’ Her conversation was wonderful, Gerald decided. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. 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. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. No instrument I've ever used has done me such good service. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin.
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