“You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. ” She said under her breath. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. . There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. 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. I am used, you understand, to guard my secret. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr.
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