She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. 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. . ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal.
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