’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Charcoal. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. “Please search everywhere,” she said. 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. “Well,” she admitted. “But the thing is, I want a job. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. “What else did Michelle say?” “She said that the guy was all broken up about it, that he had another woman on the side or something. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. I might have known it.
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