He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavy Shantung silk. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. " "But, goodness me, the hotel will take care of him! Why not? They sold him the poison. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. 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. Only au revoir. A day will come when you will thank me. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. It had ceased to beat.
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