He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. 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. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. ” The conversation hung. ‘I’ll send one of my men to see you here this very evening.
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