That boy," he added, looking at Thames, "has his eye upon us. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. 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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