It is Thérèse. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. ’ Melusine knew it to be true. 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. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. Every afternoon, from now on, I will teach you a little about life—I mean the worldly points of view you're likely to meet. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin.
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