” For some seconds he had remained quite still. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Taking this for encouragement, her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly. “By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. 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.
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