I cannot think he will welcome a French émigré for his granddaughter. ” “I’m sorry. Before very long I hope to have definite work. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. The Ragged Edge. Even he was not oblivious to it, and after about two minutes of awkward French kissing, he pulled away. 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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