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 would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. But he tells them that I am a spy. ’ ‘I would have done, only you threatened to blow off my head,’ Gerald reminded her, laughing. Hoddy. If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also. Wood in a sharp tone.
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