“It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. 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. She asked no further questions for the moment. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me.
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