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 never is. . "Now your curiosity's satisfied, child," continued Kneebone, "perhaps, you'll attend to my orders. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. I'll call for you after lunch.
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