He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. 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. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. Light the lantern. On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well Hole ajar.
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