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. Roddy muffed two. ‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother. It might be dangerous to thwart him.
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