“Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. 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. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. Don’t ask me how. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive.
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