Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. 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. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. ’ ‘Your groom? What for?’ ‘Get him to wait outside. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him.
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