‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. So I come suppliant. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. The last that is known of Monsieur Charvill is when he departed the Valade estate. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. 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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