Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. ‘She’s still bleeding. ” Lucy reflected. I've always been more or less music-mad. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day. 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. She was radiant. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. Hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered Thames Darrell, stretched upon the ground.
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