And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. 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. Remember ——” Annabel clutched her sister’s arm. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. . “Hello, Vee!” he said. Maggot tenderly.
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