Maggot. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Recollect that. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. 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. She touched his erect penis and delicately curled her fingers around it, moving her hand back and forth slowly and gently. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. .
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