Seeing her improved mood, he had offered the Latin reading lesson strategically, knowing it would surprise her that he considered her capable. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. I was visiting the royal family, as they sought me for a tutor for their sons over the summer. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. 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.
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