She passed down the stairs and into the street. 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. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. “Well, hello there. It creaked slightly. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. ” Anna shook her head. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. Meanwhile, she doesn’t realize she’s pregnant and he’s still after her, day after day.
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