As to following, there was no one. The carpenter did not hesitate a moment. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. A silence ensued. We are amiable to one another, but we don’t mix. 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. We never started out in any high-browed manner to scandalize and Shelleyfy. ‘Dear me.
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