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. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. But no more of that. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said.
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