” Her father’s irony deepened. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. He was human. You are in danger. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. 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. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast.
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