After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping. 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. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky.
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