My, um, my curfew. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. ’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated. 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. ’ Gerald tutted. The Tigress is second-hand, built for coast-trade.
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