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. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. "The intelligence seems new to you. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed.
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