“A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. 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. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner.
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