‘And take you this sword. " "Not necessarily. " "Conscious; well, that's good news. 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. She would never, never go back. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. If you had any idea what depths people have sunken to as you reside safely in this high fortress, you would search your soul to find the mote of charity left there.
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