"I am, Charcoal. 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. Wild's orders. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. " Taking the keys, he led the way, followed by Jonathan, who chuckled internally at the shock that awaited the poor fellow.
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