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. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. He had hired not one but two engineers to record the event, subsidized entirely out of his own meager pocket. I’m a little tired. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well Hole ajar.
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