E. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house. 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. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. I don’t want to stop your singing. You never can tell.
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