The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs. 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. They were filthy after the burial. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder.
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