Tell me why you ran away from the convent. " She smiled, and returned to the spinsters. A sinister thought edged in. “I will believe you. She’s taken my sword. Suddenly he understood what had happened. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. 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. “There is my aunt,” she said.
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