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The Portent & Other Stories by George MacDonald
page 30 of 286 (10%)
away at once, leaving that portion such as it might be expected to look
to one who had never before entered the place.

I was received by the housekeeper, a little, prim, benevolent old lady,
with colourless face and antique head-dress, who led me to the room
prepared for me. To my surprise, I found a large wood-fire burning on
the hearth; but the feeling of the place revealed at once the necessity
for it; and I scarcely needed to be informed that the room, which was
upon the ground floor, and looked out upon a little solitary grass-grown
and ivy-mantled court, had not been used for years, and therefore
required to be thus prepared for an inmate. My bedroom was a few paces
down a passage to the right.

Left alone, I proceeded to make a more critical survey of my room. Its
look of ancient mystery was to me incomparably more attractive than any
show of elegance or comfort could have been. It was large and low,
panelled throughout in oak, black with age, and worm-eaten in many
parts--otherwise entire. Both the windows looked into the little court
or yard before mentioned. All the heavier furniture of the room was
likewise of black oak, but the chairs and couches were covered with
faded tapestry and tarnished gilding, apparently the superannuated
members of the general household of seats. I could give an individual
description of each, for every atom in that room, large enough for
discernable shape or colour, seems branded into my brain. If I happen to
have the least feverishness on me, the moment I fall asleep, I am in
that room.




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