Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. 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 had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. I shall quit this roof to-morrow. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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