“Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. 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. No further responsibility whatever. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. Even the basest objects sold in the 24 roadside shops were beautiful in some way.
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