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. ” “Not coming home!” “No!” And, in spite of her resolve to be a Person, Ann Veronica began to weep with terror at herself. ” She whispered. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. She was quite assured that she would never see him again. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress.
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