Mr. She was finally dead, going to Hell. ” Anna was silent. Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. 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. ‘While we’re on the subject of age, it may be relevant to your claim to this house. ’ ‘But it is a very good English name,’ she protested. Jonathan nodded assent.
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