She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. "But I can guess what it's for. 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. The first peg was torture. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Michelle burst into laughter, followed by John, who almost spit up his cola. Is there?” “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, with a radiant face.
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