Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. 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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