Rousing himself, he went to the door. She needed to protect the baby. 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 did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry.
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