How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. Ruth came to him directly. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. It would make my wife very happy. Mr Jarvis’s sister, that was. 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. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs.
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