She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Vorsack would just have to live with it. “She means to go. Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. 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. But the twins were so fucked over at that point they were zombies. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. That is what my mother used to call me. If only to say goodbye.
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