” Lucy considered the irony that Michelle had spent seventeen years waiting to escape the suburban existence she had always longed to live. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. 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. He hated the taste of it.
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