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. Sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm's length; "have mercy on this helpless innocent!" And the child, alarmed by the strife, added its feeble cries to its mother's shrieks. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. Moments are ages now. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. One day she desisted from her search and went unexpectedly to the Tredgold College.
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