There were only a few meaningless lines.

She looked to see what books he was reading.
Evidently just an ordinary novel.

The letters in the rack she saw were from Annie, Arthur, and from some man or other she did not know.
Everything he had touched, everything that was in the least personal to him, she examined with lingering absorption.

He had been gone from her for so long, she wanted to rediscover him, his position, what he was now.

But there was not much in the room to help her.