‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. Kicked out of there for something shady. “Great!” Cathy squealed. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. 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. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. And as for not knowing me, you abominable little liar, you’re perfectly aware that we met at Remenham House. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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