Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. But really it is much more than that. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better. I had to ask Mr. She had the same sharp nose—which, indeed, only Ann Veronica, of all the family, had escaped. 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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