Jonathan is capable of anything. I could not dream of loving you. 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. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. And lunged once more.
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