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. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. The room seemed a vacuum.
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