“So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. ” He would follow with a long discourse on biology, uninvited. 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 came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health.
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