It worked. “Now listen. ’ ‘Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,’ Gerald said. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. 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. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him.
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