"You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. 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 despises me, I suppose. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her.
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