” She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same time. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. “Julian, please, let’s go to your place. 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. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. "No!" she cried.
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