Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. 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 was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth. No, not one little bit. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. " "I declare I don't know what to do," said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions. ToC The tragical affair at Dollis Hill, it need scarcely be said, was a dreadful blow to the family.
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