I asked him to take me away, and hide me. 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 loved him. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. Valade stood his ground, holding the doorjamb, and facing up to the general. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her.
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