One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. 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 put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present.
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