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. ‘Was she planning to make away with all this stuff?’ ‘What’s this?’ Hilary pounced on a black item slung on the floor by the dresser. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. How would he act when he learned that it had vanished? She gathered up the manuscripts and restored them to the envelope. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again.
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