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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. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. And, if I can render you any service, you may command me. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. Too many. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. I’ve always wanted to look older. After all, it was really rather funny. “I may seem unduly— anxious.
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