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. “Maybe I should have stayed home. She came to me in a dream. She was for ever scanning luggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniature pictures. “A man like that taints a girl by looking at her, by his mere conversation. Ennison!” He released her. It was really very jolly to talk to a man in this way—who saw the woman in her and did not treat her as a child. . . Sheppard was committed to the earth. ‘You make a game with me, I think. I'll show you the Shamien; and we can talk all we want.
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