Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. 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. The man lingered. Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes. It’s well hidden, miss.
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