“Only so many men neglect their duties. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted. 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.
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