’ Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. If I were Mr. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. 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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