"Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. “I did everything I could to save your baby, Lucia, I have the medical knowledge to cure almost anything, but the Pestilence struck you too fast. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die 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. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'.
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