Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. 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. She had refused to eat human beings when she had first learned her fate. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. But here’s what is different this time.
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