Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. He recognised this object at once. "General inspection after lunch; drying bins, stores and the young palms south-east. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. I bored him. He did not spend more time with her. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. 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.
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