She donned her gloves. ’ ‘Fancy my old pa thinking you was a French spy. 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. ” “Our cases are scarcely similar,” Anna remarked. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in.
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