He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. 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. “Please don’t be sad. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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