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. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. There's not his peer among the peerage. Sheppard. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in.
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