She saw his purpose and his doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took his coat lapels, and kissed him on the cheek. 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. Stanley, consenting with dignity. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. ‘She knows what she’s up against.
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