She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. “Is Coke okay?” He asked as he pulled into the gas station. 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. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. ” “In the Middle Ages, from what you’re telling me.
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