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“Lucy Albert, sir. I never yet heard of a Christians as was named after the Shannon or the Liffy; and the Thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi' them two noble strames. Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds. 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 had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. “I ate their mother first. ’ ‘Indeed? Interesting. Pitt, pointing to the prisoner.

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