For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. 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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